Solo came from a time when I was holding more than I knew how to say out loud.
On the surface, life looked normal. I was working, creating, showing up. But underneath, there was a quiet disconnection that made everything feel distant. Like I was moving through the world separated by something invisible — able to see other people’s lives unfolding, but not quite able to step into my own. The loneliness wasn’t loud. It was constant. A steady ache rather than a sharp pain.
Writing this song was less about expression and more about release. I didn’t set out to make something crafted or impressive. I needed somewhere for the feeling to go. The image of “living life behind glass” captured that sense of being present but untouchable — functioning, but hollowed out. The music mirrors that pattern: building into urgency, then falling back into quiet, the way those days felt from the inside.
Solo holds a version of me who was tired of carrying everything alone, but didn’t yet know how to ask to be held. It’s not a song about solutions. It’s a record of a moment when simply naming the loneliness was the only step I could take.