He had sung his last song and I was there to hear it.

I listened to Justin strum his guitar and sing a few bars of a song I had never heard. In mid song, he had stopped to write something down. He was writing. Typical. He always wrote when he was alone. And as I watched his careful hands strum his guitar with ease, I wondered if he knew I was watching. If he knew that my eyes bore through his back. But he never turned around once. He didn't even acknowledge me. He just continued playing and when he opened his mouth to sing the final bars, I knew that I had never been more afraid.

He had never written a song like that. In all of the years I had known Justin, of all the years I had held him at night, he had never sang a song like that to me or anyone else. He had never expressed such raw fear, and I could hear his voice slightly quiver and I knew he was crying. But he just kept on singing as if this song was his song of beauty and honor towards his devotion of something hidden deep inside of him. And as the tears fell rapidly, he sang at a steady place, never stopping, just strumming his guitar slowly and letting the words roll of his tongue.

His voice was soft, but the chords were strong. He kept along with every beat, every bar, he never missed anything at all. Even in his time of despair, he was still perfect. And it was times like those that I envied him and sometimes even hated him.

And as the music filtered through the hall, I sat down to listen. I listened to everything.

I can still recall it all.

That was the last song he sang before he went away.

And perhaps, if he'd stayed long enough, I'd cater to his weakness. I'd allow him to collapse in front of me. And all he had to do was exchange simple chivalry for my unfaltering love.

But he never knew.