Museum of
Broken Hearts

The concept behind this song started years ago as a university project with a close friend who actually came up with the name: The Museum of Broken Hearts. Life and time eventually took us down different paths, but the track stayed alive as a quiet tribute to that shared memory.

Out of all the original songs from my initial era, this was technically the last one I recorded before stepping back for a while. Getting it right was a process. The original demo was way darker, with a completely different harmonic direction and lyric structure. In the end, I stripped almost everything down and rebuilt it from scratch—keeping the core melody and chorus, but reshaping the arrangements to give the story a whole new perspective.

That evolution shows in how the track builds. Toward the end, you hear raw screams and vocal fry running right alongside the clean main vocal. It wasn't about making a purely sad or happy track; it was about capturing that real, unpolished desperation—that chaotic overlap of emotions when you're forced to accept something you can't change.

Lines like "I promise I won't call" became central over time. It's that universal impulse to look for closure, only to realize that sometimes the most honest move is learning to sit with the pain without reaching out.

For the music video in La Candelaria, introducing the ghost companion was a way to personify those feelings that linger in our daily lives. You see us playing cards or running in the park, absurd moments that show how grief and memories just tag along as you go about your day.

There's also a quiet irony to the hook: "Welcome to the show... the museum of broken hearts." It ends up being the very last line spoken on the track—and literally the last phrase I put on tape before pausing to reorganize my life. It wasn't meant to be an inspirational speech, but rather a raw statement of purpose: this is who I am, this is what I'm built for. Life is going to break my heart again, and I'm going to keep turning it into music regardless.

Looking back, Museum of Broken Hearts marked the end of a specific chapter. It was like packing up a small suitcase with what fit, closing a door, and honoring the lessons that built the foundation for everything coming next.