Everywhere I went I knew he was there, he was always watching me, haunting me with a beautiful passionate gaze. He had always been there for me, taught me to sing with every ounce of my soul. His voice was so beautiful and seductive. I could lose myself in his singing.
I was his Angel of Music, yet somehow I felt he was MY angel of music. Whenever I got the chance I would always run my hands through his dark locks and listen to him sing to me and I would sing back.
When he'd touch me I'd feel shivers go down my spine. But I always wanted to see what was behind his mask. He would never let me see. It hurt but at the same time I understood. I understood his pain.
"Sing for me, my Angel of Music," he whispered.
I opened my mouth and let the song flow from my soul. I sang for him and only him. It was how it always was. He'd ask and I'd comply with his request. During concerts the songs I sang were only for him.
I so longed to hear his voice after hours and hours of rigorous practice at the theater. It brought peace to my soul.
"Sing my angel of Music," he'd always repeat to me.
I longed to feel those lips upon mine, the soft whispers of his voice in my ear, and the feel of his hands as they roam my body. I was his and his alone. Long ago he ensnared me with his charming demeanor.
"Sing," he repeated.
My heart and soul ran out screaming for me to give him more, to sing for him more. I could feel his lips close to mine as I continued to sing and then he silenced me. His tender lips were upon mine.
He was my angel. My angel of Music.