Scott used to wait for you in the shadows. Never in the audience, never among the crowd chanting your name. He wasn’t one of those. By the time you stepped out to receive the applause, he had already disappeared behind the curtain, like a ghost resisting the light.

It was strange because when he spoke, his voice was deep, enveloping, capable of filling everything with its gravity. But lately, he spoke less. He went out less. He was beginning to bury himself in his own world, a world that not even you, with all your brilliance, could easily enter.

—It doesn’t offend you, does it? he asked one night as you relaxed in your dressing room.

You shrugged, as if it didn’t matter. As if it didn’t hurt that he barely showed up at your concerts, that people were beginning to wonder if you were still together, that the rumors of his disappearance only kept growing.

—I can’t be out there he murmured.

Scott lowered his gaze, almost ashamed. His thin silhouette was outlined against the dim light of the lamp. His dark, melancholic eyes studied the floor as if a song had been written on it.

—It doesn’t mean I don’t love you.