"You're a lot different than I thought you'd be," said Sam, chuckling, and shaking his head. He thought I'd be confident, maybe even arrogant.

I intimidate, I command a room when I walk in, he says, yet he had quickly come to learn that I'm an introverted hotbed of insecurities.

I can sing and play to thousands of people but I can barely leave my house.

I cry before shows yet I dream of the stage.

Sam is solid. Up to the end, he was always Sam.

I am flitting, flitting, flitting, ever changing, sneaky, and variable, under seige by my emotions.

Sam says let him be my rock.

He holds me and strokes my hair.