This song came to me on a night when I was feeling emotionally overwhelmed. Whenever I’m going through something heavy, I often turn to music as a way to process everything. It’s how I work through my emotions, and writing songs has always been a cathartic release for me. When I sit down to write, it’s like the words and melodies allow me to pour out everything I’m feeling—sometimes without even realizing what’s been building inside of me. It’s a form of cleansing, a way to breathe again.

But there’s something I truly believe about my songwriting: I don’t write the songs by myself. I fully believe that God gives me the words, the melodies, and even the arrangements. I’m just a conduit for something much bigger than me. So, when I find myself struggling to write about something personal, it usually tells me that I’m not quite ready to receive the song yet. There’s always a detail, a perspective, or a deeper understanding that I’m missing, and once I find it, the song will come.

There’s also a part of me that believes sometimes the songs I write aren’t just for my own emotional journey. I could be writing something that will help someone else—a message or a story that someone else needs to hear. For example, I’ve written a song about watching someone I love struggle with addiction, even though I’ve never had to go through that myself. The song wasn’t for me; it was for someone who needed that message. If my music can speak to someone, even if the story isn’t mine, I feel like I’ve done my job.

So, on this particular day, I was struggling to write about the emotional turmoil I was going through. I spent hours trying to get the words out, but I wasn’t making any progress. After a while, I accepted that I wasn’t ready to write that song yet, but I still felt a pull to create something. Then, a chord progression stuck in my head. It wouldn’t go away, so I picked up my guitar and started playing, humming random words and syllables along with the melody.

I could feel the melancholy of the melody. It wasn’t long before I sang the words, “Time was slow as we were fighting, but then everything happened so fast.” It just felt right, like the beginning of a story. I started thinking about what could rhyme with “fast,” and I landed on “glass.” That one word set the entire direction for the song. All of a sudden, I had a vision—glass, the aftermath of an accident, and a life turned upside down.

The characters in my mind were suddenly covered in glass. I could see them in a crash, rushed to the hospital, both of them fighting for their lives. From there, the song started to take shape. The words just flowed. The story was about the fragility of life, about how everything can change in an instant.

I realized I was telling the story of a girl and her boyfriend who were in a heated argument. They were fighting in the car, tears and raised voices, until the moment everything changed—an accident. They were both rushed to the hospital, and the girl finds herself drifting in and out of consciousness, seeing the panic and sorrow of their parents in the waiting room, hearing the doctors’ frantic voices. Her hand is covered in blood. Her vision blurs. And then, she sees him—her boyfriend, lying on a stretcher next to her, but she can’t reach him. She tries to call his name, but she passes out.

Later, after waking up in the hospital, she learns that he’s in a coma, suffering life-threatening injuries. The doctors aren’t sure if he’ll ever wake up, or if he does, if he’ll ever walk again. She is devastated, and the weight of their fight, the pride and anger, feels so insignificant now. All she wants is to tell him she loves him, but it’s too late. The regret is unbearable. She stays by his side, praying, begging for him to wake up, and realizing how fragile life really is. She feels the desperation of the words she wishes she could take back and the ones she wishes she had said, before it was too late. 

And then, the song ends, not telling us what happens to him. Does he wake up? Does he survive? I wanted to leave that unanswered because that wasn’t the point. The song is about the fragility of life—about how, when you’re faced with the possibility of losing someone, the small things don’t matter anymore. The details of the argument, the accident—none of it matters. It’s a reminder to appreciate every moment with the people we love. 

I think that’s why I don’t specify exactly who the other person is in the song. It could be a boyfriend, a friend, a family member—anyone. The message is universal, and I wanted the song to resonate with anyone who has ever lost someone or feared losing someone.

The song came out almost by accident. I had a chord change stuck in my head, a melody that wouldn’t leave me, and it just kind of spilled out of me. The backing track came together in an odd way too. When I was fooling around with the instrumental lines, I didn’t realize I was recording them, and it ended up being the final take. The vocals were the same way. I was recording a demo, just trying out some ideas, but the first take sounded so good that I kept it. Everything about this song happened by chance, but I see it as part of the bigger picture. It was all meant to be.

The album cover for “Don’t you dare” is a photograph of me sitting on the hood of a car in a ditch at night, wearing a black prom dress. It’s meant to represent that fateful night, and the title, “Don’t you dare,” is scratched into the sky, representing the moment before everything goes wrong. The photo was taken on Valentine’s Day, and I find that detail especially poignant.

The album cover for “Don’t you dare” is a photograph of me sitting on the hood of a car in a ditch at night, wearing a black prom dress. It’s meant to represent that fateful night, and the title, “Don’t you dare,” is scratched into the sky, representing the moment before everything goes wrong. The actual photo was taken on Valentine’s Day, and I find that detail especially poignant.

In the end, I hope this song resonates with at least one person. It’s a reminder to cherish every moment and to never take time or the people we love for granted. You never know what tomorrow holds, so don’t let anger or pride steal precious moments. Love deeply, and always say the things you need to say before it’s too late.