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When I first met Cherry Seaborn, I’ll be honest — I didn’t think too much of it. She wasn’t what I expected, not at all. At that time in my life, everything revolved around music. I was living out of suitcases, jumping from city to city, stage to stage, chasing a dream that was moving faster than I could ever imagine. The songs were coming to life, the fame was building, and my focus was locked entirely on the road ahead. Romance? It wasn’t even on my radar.
But then Cherry walked in — quiet, calm, grounded — like a melody that didn’t need to shout to be heard. There was something different about her. She didn’t care about the lights, the fame, or the noise surrounding me. She looked past all that. For the first time in a long while, someone saw me — the awkward kid from Suffolk who just loved writing songs.
Back then, I was used to the chaos of touring — the wild nights, the adrenaline, the noise that never seemed to stop. Cherry was the complete opposite of that world. She was steady, thoughtful, sincere — a kind of peace I didn’t know I was searching for. At first, I didn’t know what to make of it. I was always moving, always creating, and she was content to just be. She didn’t need the spotlight — she became my quiet space in a loud life.
We’d known each other since school, but it wasn’t until years later — after everything changed — that our paths crossed again. It felt strange, almost poetic. I was on top of the world career-wise, but inside, there was still an emptiness. That’s the thing about success — it fills your calendar, not your heart. Cherry brought balance to that chaos. She reminded me that life wasn’t just about chasing moments, but feeling them.
When we reconnected, she was working in finance — a world miles apart from mine. But that difference made everything make sense. She didn’t treat me like a celebrity; she treated me like a person. We’d talk for hours about anything but music — her job, her travels, her love of hockey, small things that didn’t need applause to matter. It was real, and in that reality, I found a new kind of rhythm.
Our love story didn’t start with fireworks; it started with friendship. That’s the beauty of it. The slow burn, the laughter, the ease of being around someone who doesn’t expect anything from you except honesty. Cherry wasn’t impressed by fame; she was impressed by effort. And that’s something I admired deeply. In a world where everything moves too fast, she taught me the value of slowing down.
People often ask if she’s the inspiration behind my songs like Perfect or Thinking Out Loud. The truth is, she’s the inspiration behind the peace in those songs — the calm after the storm. Every lyric that speaks about finding home, that’s her. Every chord that feels like comfort, that’s her presence. She didn’t just inspire a verse — she helped me find the meaning behind the music.
When I proposed to Cherry, it wasn’t a grand gesture or a Hollywood moment. It was simple, private, and real — just the way we are. I wanted it to reflect the truth of us: no cameras, no spectacle, just two people who found their way back to each other after life had taken them on different journeys.
Now, years later, looking back, I realize how much she’s shaped the man I’ve become. The songs I write now carry more reflection, more heart, more gratitude. Cherry grounds me. When the world gets loud, she’s the silence I can return to. When the pressure builds, she reminds me that music started as love, not business.
Our story isn’t one of dramatic twists or tabloid headlines — it’s one of growth, patience, and timing. Sometimes the right person doesn’t appear when you’re ready; they appear when you need them most. Cherry came into my life at the perfect moment — not when I was searching for love, but when I was ready to understand it.
And that’s the song I’ll keep singing, quietly, endlessly — because some melodies never fade.
