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It started with a sound— soft, strange, full of ache, you said listen to this one, and my ribs began to shake.

A voice like rain in confession, lyrics folding into dusk— we sat there, half lit, like the song was made for us.

You watched me take it in, your eyes a quiet test, as if wondering if I’d feel the war beneath your chest.

That chorus hit different, like it already knew my name, like it held your secret and offered me the same.

We didn't speak right after— just sat in the shared hum, me, haunted by the beauty, you, by where it came from.

Now I can’t hear it cleanly, not without seeing your face, not without aching for that once-sacred space.

You gave me that song like a lock gives a key, and now it plays on but it won’t set me free.