Yeah, I’ve been in that place before. There’s something about the first bite of a warm bowl of miso soup that feels like a sunrise in a cup. The broth’s subtle earthiness, the faint seaweed sweetness, and that instant hush that comes as the steam curls up – it’s like the silence between a verse and a chorus. It stops you, you take a breath, and suddenly you’re looking for a line that captures that quiet rise. That’s the moment when a song starts, or a lyric starts to form.