Stay: A Melody among the Stars

New Found Glory : Stay (I Missed You) *ft. Lisa Loeb
Film: Reality Bites

The first time I really heard Stay (I Missed You), I hadn’t actually heard it at all.

I was just a kid—seven, maybe eight—when my older cousins, Amy and Kristi, came over for a slumber party. They were everything to me: effortlessly cool, effortlessly fun, the kind of girls I wanted to be when I grew up. That weekend was a blur of New Kids on the Block sleeping bags, whispered secrets, and Lisa Loeb lyrics floating through the air like second nature.

They knew every single word.

I soaked it up the way kids do—before I’d ever heard the song on the radio, before I even knew Lisa Loeb’s voice, I knew that song.

By the time the weekend was over, it was imprinted on me.

And then, one day, I did hear it.

Lisa Loeb’s voice—soft but certain—poured through the radio speakers, and suddenly, everything clicked into place.

You say, I only hear what I want to…

I already knew the words, but now they carried something more.

The song felt warm. Nostalgic. Like sleepovers and laughter and feeling like you belonged.

Even as I grew up, that never changed.

Warped Tour & New Found Glory

Time passed, and music became more than just a background in my life—it became a language, a way of understanding the world.

Of course, Stay didn’t stay locked in childhood. Songs like that never do.

Fast forward to high school, and I was deep into my New Found Glory era. Pop-punk ran through my veins, and no band nailed that sound quite like them. Clint, Ricky, Daniel, and I saw them every chance we got—Warped Tour, Honda Civic Tour, anywhere they played. Those concerts were electric—loud, fast, anthemic.

Then in 2007, From the Screen to Your Stereo Part 2 dropped, and there it was—Stay (I Missed You), reimagined in palm-muted guitars and pop-punk energy.

Jamie bought me the album for Christmas that year. I remember unwrapping it, my excitement bubbling over. Stay had come back into my life in a whole new form, wrapped in distortion and nostalgia.

It was perfect—an entire album of movie soundtrack covers, and Stay (I Missed You) was on it.

If Lisa Loeb’s version was a quiet ache, New Found Glory’s version was an explosion.

Their version was everything I didn’t know I needed: louder, faster, charged with something urgent.

It felt like home.

The Breakup

In 2008, I made the biggest mistake of my life.

Jamie and I broke up.

It wasn’t for any good reason—just fear, uncertainty, being too young to know how not to panic when things got serious. We were engaged, and I let doubt creep in where it didn’t belong.

And then I lost him.

For a month, I wandered through the wreckage of that choice, trying to pretend like I wasn’t breaking inside.

Stay (I Missed You)

I don’t know if I ever truly listened to the lyrics before then.

I mean, really listened.

“I thought that I was strong. I thought, ‘Hey, I can leave, I can leave’… but now I know that I was wrong, ’cause I missed you.”

Before, the song had been a melody, a feeling, a core memory wrapped in nostalgia. But now, in the wake of losing him, it was a mirror.

I had walked away from the person who made me feel safest. The person who knew me, truly knew me—every tangled thought, every wild dream, every flaw, every beautiful and messy part of me—and loved me anyway.

REALITY BITES

The first time I saw Reality Bites, I was fresh out of high school—just a Texas girl trying to figure out what the hell came next.

Lelaina, with her big dreams and existential spirals, felt familiar, like I was watching some older version of myself trying to claw her way into something meaningful.

The job struggles.

The idealism clashing with reality.

The way love was messy and complicated and achingly real.

I felt all of it.

And then there was the song.

Lisa Loeb’s Stay—woven into the film’s DNA, underscoring the chaos of loving someone while also trying to figure yourself out.

“I thought that I was strong. I thought, ‘Hey, I can leave, I can leave’… but now I know that I was wrong, ’cause I missed you.”

The words hit differently when you’re in the middle of the heartbreak yourself.

Because by the time I rewatched Reality Bites, Jamie and I weren’t together anymore.

We were in that month, the one I never want to relive, the one where I had let fear win, let uncertainty drive me away from the person who felt like home.

And as I sat there, watching Lelaina self-sabotage, watching her run in circles trying to make sense of her emotions, I saw myself.

Saw the way I had pulled away from something real.

Saw the way I had let my overthinking make the choices for me.

And I hated it.

I don’t know if I played Stay on purpose that night or if it just found me.

But I remember sitting there, alone, in the quiet, and pressing play.

And I remember the ache that followed.

The song that had once been a soundtrack to slumber parties, to giggles under blanket forts, to cassette tapes popping into stereos—was now a punch to the gut.

Thought I could step away, that I could be fine.

That I was making the right choice.

But I wasn’t.

The next day, I found the New Found Glory album Jamie had given me.

I don’t even think I meant to listen to Stay specifically—it just happened.

And when their version hit—when those familiar chords filled the room—I lost it.

It was like every part of my life had folded in on itself.

The childhood memories.

The Reality Bites realizations.

The breakup.

Jamie.

It was all there, all at once, in a song that had been waiting for this exact moment to break me wide open.

I missed him.

I missed him with every fiber of my being.

I missed the way his hand felt in mine, the way we could sit in silence and still feel like we were talking. I missed his laugh, his stupid jokes, the way he looked at me like I was something undeniable—something meant.

I missed us.

And the song wouldn’t let me escape it.

The day we got back together, I remember everything.

Jamie picking me up from work.

The weight in my chest as I climbed into the car.

The way my pulse raced—not from nerves, not from uncertainty, but from relief.

I had spent weeks feeling like I was suffocating, like I had made the kind of mistake that you don’t get a second chance to fix.

But when I saw him—when I was next to him again—I could breathe.

We didn’t go straight home. We didn’t rush to talk through everything all at once.

Instead, we drove.

We drove until the sun started to set, until the sky turned dusky blue and the world outside blurred into streaks of orange and pink, until the stars began to shine, the windows down, the air rushing in and my hand finding his like it had never left.

A song can change.

A song can follow you through time, weaving itself into your story in ways you never expected.

Stay (I Missed You) started as a song my cousins sang at a sleepover, a melody I fell in love with before I even heard it.

It became a song I loved.

A song I lived.

A song that found me when I needed it most—the one that echoed back everything I was too afraid to say.

Because sometimes, you don’t realize what you have until you almost lose it.

But if you’re lucky—if you keep searching, if you listen closely—love has a way of finding you again.”

A melody in the stars, waiting to be heard.