He wrote a song.He wrote one for me.

Music was HIS thing. He conveyed his feelings, every single one of them through songs. Some of them were his songs, and some of them were the ones we hear on the radio. Yes, he wrote songs and gave them to me. He wrote songs just to show how much he meant to me. Yet they never came out of his mouth. Rarely. On special occasions it did. But Music was HIS thing.  He played numerous instruments and wanted to learn so much more. He adored it. It was his passion. And it was never good enough for him. He always wanted more.He always wanted to ‘get better’, even if he was the most brilliant musician ive ever seen. He was never satisfied with his talent. Never. His words flowed like water on to his books as he scribbled down lyrics. He had one book, where he wrote everything. His songs, how he felt about me, Everything. To me, it was everything. He was.Everything.


Yours truly,

Painted Shadow


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