Rob

The song starts with one image: a hallway light left on for someone who isn't home yet.

I wrote it in August, for someone who was away while I made it. That's all I'll say about that. Some songs I keep in the house. This one left first, so it's yours to hear. The rest of that set stays home.

The rule I gave myself while writing: no begging. Songs about waiting almost always ask someone to come back. I didn't want one of those. The person in this song doesn't chase anyone. The door being open is a fact, not a plea. If you play it, notice how calm the words stay. Nothing in it pleads.

Making it went words first, then music. I cut two versions. The first one stumbled at the seams, so I kept the second: guitar alone at the start, the voice close and low, about the speed of a slow walk home. By the last chorus a quiet harmony shows up underneath. The song never raises its voice, and it's gone in two and a half minutes.

The cover came last. Night street, a man with a guitar case, one doorway still holding warm light. I described the picture; that's what came back. The doorway is the whole point.

Why tell you all of this? Because you're deciding whether a stranger can write a song for your person. Here's what I'd want to know in your seat: your story gets the same care this one did. It stays yours. I won't publish it or share it. The first verse comes back free so you can judge the work before any money moves. If it lands, $20 finishes the song.

If someone is on your mind, write to me: [email protected]. A few honest lines is enough. I answer everyone.

Rob

Hear it: The Door's Unlocked (2:32). Direct audio file: mp3.