Page 168 of Goodbye Note

I couldn’t imagine trying to play off like I wasn’t out of my mind for still not being over him. We’d lived a whole life without each other. It was stupid to still be in love with him.

“You seem pretty deep in thought over there. If all of you listening to the podcast want to jump on YouTube, it’s worth seeing his face. I’m not sure I could explain it.” Lennon shook his head and gestured for me to speak.

“You’re just selling out my contemplative moments!” I let out a breath and went for it. “I have a muse. I’ve always had a muse of some sort, as I’m sure my fans can tell. There are a lot of deeply personal lyrics on all our albums that span from heartbreak to living with my mental illness and everything in between.” I paused, reeling from admitting that much, but I knew it was only dipping my toe in the water. I had to say more. “This record was a little different because I wasn’t trying to be angry or write a breakup album like so many of our others have been dubbed. This record, I wanted to be about healing. I treated it like therapy, and through that, I cared less about being cryptic. I think most people can relate to having a relationship that profoundly changed the way we interact with the world. I had one of those, and I’m still dealing with the aftereffects.”

“I think that’s the most straightforward answer you’ve ever given me.” Lennon stared at me. “Since you are the king of cryptic double entendres, color me shocked. I don’t keep up much on the gossip train because if I want to know something, I ask in an interview, and if I’m told no, I leave it at that.”

“I’m going to be forty this year, and a big part of my platform is transparency. I guess I’m just doing it raw.” I winked and then laughed.

He smirked. “Sure, it’s understandable how that could drive even more listening and deep dive type analysis into your music by super fans.”

“Right, and I don’t think we can really know if it was the super fan’s interest that drove the articles or the articles that drove the interest.” I shrugged, sure the beast of fame couldn’t ever be fully understood. “The internet is a living, breathing thing. It takes on a life of its own.”

“I’m sure it’s some of both, and we’ll never know where the line is.” Lennon got deep and contemplative, and it was one of the reasons he and I always got along.

“Exactly, and I used to worry about my lyrics and what would be linked to these wild theories and rumors. But for this album, I think I’ve been so disconnected from social media for so long, my art has gotten to a place where I could strip it down to the bare bones and then not worry about what was said about it. The music stands for itself, and if fans speculate, they do.”

“It’s an interesting take because no matter how many deep dives are done, I’m not sure anyone, even with a massive discography of evidence, could really say what was in your brain at the time.” He laughed and nodded at the other guys waiting in the green room. “So if this isn’t a breakup album, what is it?” Lennon asked.

“It’s a nostalgia album. It’s a reflection of my life, of where I started and where I am, which isn’t a breakup or love or any one thing. It’s the cumulation of me. All the experiences that brought me here—and a lot of it involved healing. I used to hate when people called our albums breakup albums because it makes them about someone else when it’s never been about anyone but me. They are about me. My experience. What I lived. So, sure, there are songs when I’m mourning and songs when I’m not. But it’s only ever been my interactions with the world.”

I felt good about it. About taking back the narrative.

I was tired of sitting with myself after we released another album of songs about Varian, feeling like he was celebrating because he’d won. Or maybe not even won but knew that I still thought about him. I didn’t want to give him that.

“It seems like you have this negative experience with an album being called a breakup album.”

“I do. I want to be known for my wins, not the lowest moments of my life.” I took a sip of my water, biting back anything too pointed.

“I love thinking of the album like it’s your life until this point. Does that mean we’ll get a part two?”

“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask me in another fifteen or twenty years.” I exhaled, glad we’d taken a turn away from what I’d said.

“Do you think you’ll keep making music that long?” Lennon asked, clearly hopeful.

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop making music. I may not tour and stop putting it out one day, but I don’t think there will be a day I don’t write. It’s become so dear to me. It’s a type of therapy, like I said. It’s how I process the world around me. I don’t think my mental health will do well in a world where I stop.”

“Can you give me some insight on what allowed you to let go and be more raw versus your old albums?”

“Sure. I think with experience comes the ability to see a thing for what it is. I don’t have anxiety or the need to make this what it is by piling a ton of stuff on top of it. I don’t need a lot of extra components to the music. And that’s not to say adding those things is bad or makes our other albums not as good, but this one, I wanted to be simpler.”

“What drove you to want that?”

“I’m tired of hiding. As much and as little as that gives away.”

“Care to elaborate on that?” he asked.

I laughed and shook my head. “No comment. I’ve already said too much.” I glanced over at Kiernan.

He rolled his eyes.

“You guys at home who might only be listening so can't see this, but Arik just looked at Kiernan, his manager, who is wearing a face like he’s the only adult in the room and agreeing Arik is giving away too much. Care to comment, Kiernan?”

“I’m good,” Kiernan called from the doorway.

We both laughed.

“I’ll take that as Kiernan agreeing that you’ve said too much, but since you’re a cryptic bastard, I still don’t have any idea.”

---