Some songs are written. Others just surface — like something the tide left behind when the water finally pulled back far enough.
Where Low Tide Began
Low Tide started with a feeling I couldn’t name. Not sadness exactly. More like the strange clarity that comes when you stop resisting what hurts and just look at it. The way a beach at low tide reveals everything that’s usually hidden — rocks, shells, things that sank a long time ago.
I’d been carrying a lot of unfinished things. Conversations that never got their ending. Feelings I kept trying to water back to life even though they’d already turned to ash. The first line I wrote — “I keep watering the ashes, hoping something green will grow” — sat in a notebook for weeks before the music followed.
I keep watering the ashes
hoping something green
will grow.
What the Tide Takes
The entire song lives inside one metaphor: the tide. It comes, it goes, and it doesn’t ask for your permission. That’s what grief does — and that’s what letting go does. You don’t choose the moment. It chooses you.
“I’m letting go without a fight” isn’t giving up. It’s the opposite. It’s choosing not to grip something so tightly that it destroys your hands.
Grief as Devotion
The bridge changed everything for me. The idea that grief isn’t the opposite of love — it’s love with no place to go. And that real love might mean being strong enough to open your hands and let it move on.
Maybe grief is just devotion
with nowhere left to land,
maybe love is just the courage
to release it from your hands.
The final chorus shifts from “watching what I loved keep going” to something different: “I don’t need to feel alright — I just need to keep the ocean.”
It’s not about being okay. It’s about keeping the capacity to feel. Keeping the depth, the movement, the risk of drowning — rather than building walls against it.
Built from the Low End Up
Musically, I wanted the song to breathe like water. Deep, unhurried bass. Textures that shimmer and recede. A groove that feels like it’s pulling you somewhere you didn’t plan to go. The production mirrors the lyrics: things surface, disappear, return in different forms.
If this song finds you at the right moment, I hope it does what music is supposed to do: make you feel less alone in whatever you’re carrying.