No matter how many songs had debuted at the top of the charts, no matter how many sold-out concerts he had, that moment when he first stepped up to the mic to record a new song was hard. Maybe it was because he always wrote his own music, lyrics a pouring of his heart out first onto a page. And then into sound for the world to hear. His team knew this by now, and he was grateful for it. If he missed the first planned note once, twice, or even three times, no one would say anything. They’d just quietly re-queue the track and let him try again.

This time, though, was different. This time, he wasn’t coming off of one of those overwhelmingly successful tours and getting material together now for the next swan song. Because this time…he hadn’t sung in almost a year. In fact, he’d been hardly able to make a sound for six months of that year.

A freak accident, they’d said. One that robbed him of both the ability to sing or even speak for quite a while. And robbed him of the want to do it in the first place. The brakes of a truck coming up behind them had stalled, pushing the car with his new fiance and him into a busy intersection. Although he’s ultimately happy the driver came out of it unscathed, he can’t help that the darkest parts of him wish another had died that day.

The track starts and his lips lean closer to the mic, parted and ready for that first note. But the pressure of that year, and all the loss behind it crashes in. The song passes him by, and the technician pauses it. Silence, pregnant with waiting for a gesture from him to start again. A deep breath as he tries to push back all the thoughts racing through his head. All the many nights mourning his loss. Or worrying whether he could still even sing.

He finally gives that motion, blinking rapidly to hold back tears caused by a myriad of emotions. A noise does pass his lips on cue this time, but not the right one. The click of the track pausing prematurely doesn’t help his emotional state, nor does the quiet offer made by his friends on the other side of the glass that maybe he just needed more time.

But what he really needs is to be able to lose himself in the music again. To not feel so broken, again. Another gesture and the song begins for a third time. His eyes stay closed for those first few bars as he shores up the strength, remembering all the times he used to sing for her. How beautiful their voices sounded together when he could finally convince her to sing along. The track doesn’t play without him this go-round, his voice joining in with the right pitch at just the right beat.

He sings for her. He sings for himself. He sings.