I knew he was special when somehow he broke my heart without ever having hold of it. His grip on me was so tight yet his touch so gentle. Hidden in his song was a special part of me. In his song was the confession about his all. So heartbreakingly beautiful, yet all hidden behind walls of an outer self. Music was his only truth and our only connection. But his hands couldn’t play forever but my heart could stay broken. Broken until the next song. The next song that was made of his broken pieces; that, somehow, fit in with my broken pieces. They never fixed me or made me whole, but they reminded me what it felt like. In his song I found my solace and in our silence I die.