“So first, I want to thank our new label. For trusting us and giving us space. For letting us be honest, even when it wasn’t pretty.” He paused. “Especially when it wasn’t pretty.”
The room seemed to lean in.
“This record came out of a strange time in my life,” he continued. “A time when I had to stop and ask myself why I was doing any of this in the first place. When the noise got too loud and the thing I loved most started to feel like it was choking me.”
He exhaled into the mic, slow and deliberate, like he was grounding himself.
“I had to learn how to sit with silence,” Bodhi continued, voice calm but intent. “How to listen again. How to make space for the parts of myself I’d been running from.”
A small smile tugged at his mouth. “Turns out, that’s where the best songs come from.”
A ripple of murmurs moved through the room. Someone whistled, sharp and piercing.
“This song was written during a time when I wasn’t sure what the future looked like,” he said. “When I didn’t know if I was strong enough to move forward.”
His eyes flicked briefly towards me. They didn’t linger, but I caught it anyway. The way his smile widened, just a fraction. When he spoke again, his voice softened.
“Someone reminded me that being loud isn’t always a bad thing. That sometimes the people who blow into your life like a hurricane don’t destroy you.” He swallowed. “Sometimes they change everything.”
He tightened his grip on the mic. This time, when his gaze found mine, he didn’t look away.
“This song is about finding your way back to yourself and choosing to stay. About learning that love, in all its forms, can be a reason to keep going.”
The lights dimmed.
“This one’s called ‘Wildflower Season.’”
My breath caught and my heart stumbled over itself.
Bodhi crossed the stage and took a seat at the piano. Ghost lifted his violin, tucking it beneath his chin, and when he drew the bow across the strings, a mournful melody spilled into the room. Bodhi joined in on the keys, steady and gentle.
Then he sang.
“You move like you’re counting the floor, like every step still matters.
I learned how to stand in the noise; you learned how to fall without shattering.
We talked in fields no one remembers, time slowing down in the dirt.
You said some things only grow where the ground’s already been hurt.”
My eyes burned. A single tear slipped free, trailing down my cheek.
It was us.
The lake. The gardens. Quiet conversations stretched thin by fear and hope. Two people learning how to exist without numbing themselves. Letting something fragile take root.
“They told me time would smooth the cracks; you said it shows you where you bend.
I don’t know who I was before, I just know who I am when you laugh.”
Riff’s guitar joined in, followed by Mick’s bass. Thump brushed his cymbals lightly, the rhythm soft and deliberate, like a heartbeat. When the chorus hit, the song lifted, transforming into something warmer. Something hopeful.
“We don’t heal in straight lines; we don’t bloom all at once.
I was chasing the high ground; you were learning to trust.
If the light flickers out, if the night pulls us under,
