“Paige?” he sounded alarmed.
“Her… Eyes… by Pat… Monahan?” I choked out.
“Yes,” he said slowly, beginning to walk forward, then stopping, “Do you… do you know it?”
I turned away, looking out the window. Outside, it was beginning to rain. I ignored his question, “What else?”
He sounded confused, “What do you mean?”
“What else do you listen to?” I clarified through gritted teeth.
“Nothing,” he admitted, “I don’t listen to anything else.”
I bit my lip and let my head drop down, staring blindly into the kitchen sink, the tears beginning to well over. In a barely audible voice, I replied, “It was your song.”
When I turned back to him, his face was shocked. “Wasn’t it?” I asked, my voice cracking painfully.
He nodded slowly. I turned to look out the window again. I took a deep shattering breath and turned back to him, “Always?”
He understood this time, “From the day she… died. I haven’t listened to anything else… ever.” his face was pained as he said this.
“That,” I began slowly, “Is sad.”