Being Alive
The piano began to play, and for a breath, Kurt hesitated. And when he allowed the words and notes their escape, it stung sharply.
Reminiscent of two other songs, this was almost familiar. A previous pair of instances where singing had not been a performance. No theatricality, no flashy costumes or crazy lights, no dancing or gesturing. Simply Kurt, unmoving and contained, his voice the focus. I Want to Hold Your Hand and Blackbird. It was the same, too intimate, too real. This was sacrificing his heart, tired and scarred and desperately wishing.
He was revealing his deepest fears and desires, letting the listeners see behind the facade, beyond the everyday act.
All of humanity, no matter how honest, kept things to themselves. Hid their hurts, stifled the uncomfortable truths, protected their fervent dreams from unwelcome, unsympathetic observers. They put forth a version, a shadow of their soul for the world's eyes, which did not leave them vulnerable.
And Kurt let his to drop away, allowed the weakness at his core to be recognized, giving himself this time to feel the emotions he had buried deep. And others were seeing. Strangers were watching.
It was terrifying, it was freeing. There was pain, and there was peace. The offering was disconcertingly, uncomfortable absolute.
He acknowledged, if only for this song, that what he wanted was so basically human - he wanted to be wanted. To be needed. To, for a solitary second, actually know that he was the single most important person in someone's life.
Once, in the past, it was true of his father. Now, though, that was Carole's place in Burt's heart. He had longed for it with Finn, thought "maybe" for Sam, believed for a time with Mercedes, and been utterly certain that it was a fact of the relationship between himself and Blaine.
None of those had lasted, and now he felt lonely. Even with the encouragement from Rachel, Isabel, Dad, he was alone.
And he finally accepted that he wanted, needed more.
All of this, all of it, displayed in song to an audience that could shred him, if they struck at these imperfect hopes.
The end of the music slipped past, and abruptly there were cheers and applause, and he could barely hear them because he had never been so aware that he was alive. That he could search for that someone, that one day he would find them, that he had overcome and been let down, hoped and despaired and lived.
For now, that was enough. For now, he was enough.