(1# Crush - Garbage)

The first time you saw him on stage, your heart exploded. You had saved up to go to one of his concerts in the front row, and you planned to enjoy every second of it.

You were just another face in the crowd, but you weren’t jumping, filming with your phone, or shouting. You were just watching. Not with the quick glance of a fan hoping to be noticed, but with something more fixed… as if you were trying to memorize him.

Every song was hitting you in a special way.

Another city. Another date. Always in the front rows, always with the same eyes locked on him. At first, it seemed curious, even flattering. Musicians learn to recognize the people who come back, the ones who seem to follow them around maybe it’s part of the game.

But the coincidences started to pile up. Seeing you outside the studio on a Thursday morning, with a coffee you offered as if you knew he would pass by dressed like staff, maybe you were the new guy, he thought.

Then at album signings where there weren’t even any concerts nearby.

And then the letters came.Not the kind that talk about the music or how much a song has helped you. They were more… intimate.You knew his left knee hurt after shows. That he stayed up late watching TV because he couldn’t sleep. Small things, private details.

And he can’t remember ever telling you any of them.