I used to hate writing love songs.

Seriously—hated it.

In high school, I had a boyfriend, but I only wrote one love song the entire time. I thought they were cheesy. Overdone. Like every angle had already been written and rewritten a thousand times.

What could I possibly add?

To me, heartbreak had way more range.

You could write about cheating, regret, missing someone, and hating that you miss them. And heartbreak isn’t just about romance—it can be about losing friends, feeling out of place, or just being plain lonely.

Most of my early songs were about exactly that: loneliness, being the oddball, or heartbreak I’d never even experienced, just imagined.

(Yes, I’ve written entire breakup songs about people I never dated. That’s the fun part.)

But then, recently, something shifted. I got into a short relationship that made me… weirdly giddy. And for the first time, I wanted to write about that feeling.

Looking back, I think I was never really giddy in past relationships—but this time felt different. And I ended up writing three love songs about it.

Happy ones. Real ones.

What surprised me most? Even after it ended, I kept writing them.

It was like I unlocked this whole new world—where I didn’t need a person to inspire the story. I could just write what I imagined love could feel like. It felt freeing. Like, I could finally write about joy without needing a muse. I now just needed a story and a pen.

Now here’s where it gets ironic:
I don’t really date.
Not actively, at least. And sometimes I wonder if I should—because yes, I absolutely get more song content when I do.

(On average: 6 to 8 songs per guy… more if it’s a longer thing.)

But I’m in a season where I just don’t have time.

I’m juggling school, music, work, and a dozen creative projects.

I also really want to get to know me—without any strings attached. I want to fall in love with life before I fall in love with someone else. (And let’s be real, the good ones usually show up when you’re not looking.)

The most recent love song I wrote wasn’t even about anyone specific. It was about how I hope love feels the next time I let myself fall for someone. It's playful, vulnerable, and a little messy—in the best way.

(Fun fact: I actually wrote that song at 2PM the same day I opened for Drew Baldridge this past June… and ended up performing it that night. My set list needed a fun one, and this just felt right.)

It tells the story of a girl noticing all these little changes in herself: her hair’s growing back, she’s actually putting on makeup, she’s looking forward to Fridays. She’s a little embarrassed to admit she likes someone—especially after getting burned before—but she’s choosing to embrace it the best she can.

That’s how I want to fall in love again: slowly, nervously, but bravely. (Bravley doesn’t feel like a real word, but I am choosing to use it.)

And if I’m being honest… I like falling in love.

A lot.

It’s a rush. But I don’t fall gracefully—I fall like a boulder in a pond. No hesitation. Full splash. Straight to the bottom. And right now? I just don’t have the time to float back up.

So for now, I’ll keep writing the love songs.
Even if they’re half fiction.
… And inspired by two dates and an excellent haircut. (lol)

Because the feeling is still real—even if the boy wasn’t.

Let me know if you are in the same stage of life— email me at alivia@aliviahadfield.com

Until next time,