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When he looks at me his eyes are endless, full of what I can only describe as love. “Your voice, Chloe. The colors of your voice are like . . . f*****g . . . heaven.” He starts to sing the lyrics of a Journey song, one I instantly recognize. “‘Don’t Stop Believin’,’” I say, stunned. “It’s one of my favorite songs.” He laughs, but it’s choked with emotion. “You and your goddamn eighties rock. That’s what you were singing. You were hitting all the high notes, too, all the hard ones, without missing a beat. And it was like the Fourth of July and a Vegas laser show and the northern lights, all rolled into one. I was blinded. Frozen. I couldn’t move. I’d never heard or seen anything so beautiful. No occlusions or breaks, no cracks or wobbles, just pure, totally effortless perfection, surround
- Writer
