Included as a bonus alternate track on Volume Four (Broken), ‘I Don’t React When People Mention You’ explores the quieter aftermath of heartbreak. It is a lyric narrative composed in tercets—three-line stanzas with internal rhyme that ties each unit together. This consistent rhyme scheme gives the poem a subtle, almost meditative rhythm, evoking the repetitive cycles of thought that often come with heartbreak. Each stanza is a self-contained breath, yet together they form a larger story of emotional detachment, confusion, and ultimately, personal transformation.
The poem confronts the emotional vacuum left behind after a relationship ends—particularly one in which the speaker believed in the mutuality of love, only to realize, with time and pain, that it may have been one-sided all along. It opens in a space of numbness—where memories once brimming with warmth now feel cold and distant. The speaker reflects on the moment their emotional state shifted, the moment they were left behind, and the psychological weight that followed. There is an overwhelming sense of stillness: not peace, but paralysis. And in this stillness, the speaker begins the long, quiet work of letting go.
What distinguishes this poem from typical heartbreak narratives is its focus not on fiery grief or overt anger, but on the dull, empty space that lingers when someone disappears from your life without closure. The title itself—“I Don’t React When People Mention You”—speaks volumes. It marks a subtle milestone: not the absence of feeling, but the decision to stop giving someone the power to emotionally destabilize you. What seems like a lack of reaction is, in truth, a quiet revolution—the speaker no longer ruled by memory, but steering the course of their own healing. The speaker isn’t indifferent—they are recovering. Silence becomes a boundary.
This interior evolution inspired the music video’s visual direction. I knew immediately that the imagery needed to reflect both the emotional and physical coldness that permeates the poem. The landscapes chosen for the video are steeped in winter—snow falling in slow motion, bare trees standing like sentinels, icy lakes frozen over with silence. These visuals are not just seasonal choices; they metaphorically represent emotional frost, suspended time, and the hollow beauty of detachment.
The protagonist in the video is shown bundled in winter clothing, including a beanie—signaling both a literal and metaphorical armor against the cold and numbness that has overtaken his emotions. Their stillness within the snow-covered settings mimics the state of emotional suspension described in the poem: existing, but not quite alive. Notably, the beanie and layered clothing also suggest a withdrawal, a shrinking inward for protection, mirroring how people instinctively guard themselves after emotional trauma.
To balance the static imagery and avoid visual monotony, I incorporated brief segments of fast-paced motion—flashes of moving video or scenes that flicker erratically. These moments are designed to break the visual monotony in the same way that intrusive thoughts, memories, or emotional triggers disrupt an otherwise numbed state. The contrast between the frozen world and these sudden bursts of motion reflects the internal dissonance of the speaker: the body might be still, but the mind is restless. The quiet is often pierced by echoes of what once was.
This inner conflict is encapsulated in the lines:
Emotions went null,
that day you let go;
What remains is just a corpse without a soul.
These words guided the core emotion of the video. The idea of being reduced to a zombie-like empty shell—a person going through the motions, haunted by absence—became the lens through which every scene was chosen and edited.
The use of snow as a recurring motif adds depth to the story. Snow obscures the past. It softens edges and silences sound. In the video, it operates as both a visual metaphor and a character in itself—covering the traces of what used to be, yet always falling, always accumulating. The protagonist is surrounded by it, immersed in it, even when indoors. That’s why, in the scenes set inside the home, I made a conscious effort to preserve the cold visual tone. The color palette consists of pale blues, silvers, and whites, maintaining the emotional consistency and reinforcing the idea that the coldness isn’t just outside—it has seeped into the character’s inner world.
Ultimately, “I Don’t React When People Mention You” is about emotional survival. It’s about reaching a point where the mention of a name no longer tears you open, where you begin to reclaim your identity from the shadows of someone else’s absence. The poem doesn’t promise redemption or a grand epiphany—but it does offer something more realistic and often more powerful: quiet acceptance.
The music video extends that emotional landscape, allowing viewers not just to hear the speaker’s journey, but to feel it—through the hush of snow, the flicker of interrupted thoughts, and the solitude of cold rooms. It’s a meditation on how we freeze, thaw, and eventually move on—not all at once, but piece by piece.
Thank you for taking this behind-the-scenes look with me at the making of the “I Don’t React When People Mention You”music video. This project was incredibly meaningful to me, and it’s always a privilege to share not just the final product, but also the creative journey that brought it to life. If you have any thoughts, questions, or ideas you’d like to share—whether about the concept, visuals, lyrics, or your own interpretations—I genuinely welcome your comments. I look forward to connecting with you and continuing the conversation beyond the video.
Your support and engagement mean the world to me, and I’m excited to bring you along for more behind-the-scenes glimpses into upcoming projects, poems, and music videos. Stay tuned—there’s much more to come.
