How ‘Green Convertible’ Love Was Born
I wrote this song from memory, not imagination. It came from one of those days that etch themselves into your brain and refuse to fade. I was living in Oklahoma then — splitting time between Stillwater and Oklahoma City — and seeing a woman who made ordinary places look cinematic.
She was blonde. She drove a green convertible Mazda Miata. We met in Oklahoma City, pointed the nose of the car toward the lake and just drove. Sun on the dash. Wind turning conversation into laughter.
A Perfect Moment
We picked up picnic food, found a spot near the water and let the afternoon idle. There wasn’t a grand plan. No big speeches. Just two people, a blanket and the long, forgiving light that comes before dusk in the Midwest. When we finally rolled out, her hair was flying, the radio was low and I caught myself thinking, this is it. This is the perfect moment they tell you not to look for because it disappears if you stare too hard.
That feeling — calm, wide-open and a little unreal — became the spine of the song. I wrote it as R&B because that’s my natural go-to for love songs. R&B gives you room to breathe between beats, to let a bass line carry what words can’t. The groove moves, but it doesn’t hurry. Neither did that day.
The Memory Never Faded
Lyrically, I stayed simple. I wanted concrete details: the green paint catching the sun, the snap of a picnic lid, the way lake water smells when evening cools it. No metaphors that needed explaining. The chorus circles back to that drive, that sense of motion with nowhere in particular to be. Harmony stacks come in like the wind through the open top — present, then gone, then back again.
I didn’t know it then, but the memory never left. It lived in the back of my head. The song was always in me. I just didn’t know how to get it out. Then I discovered Suno and AI, and that did the trick. My memories became music. If you like my music, follow me on YouTube.
