He always tells me that the world is made to be listened to.
Every raindrop, every chirp, every rumble of thunder.
If I am meant for anything, it is to show him the world.
This is me.

There are those nights, where it was just the two of us. Where he softly hides within his own thoughts, and there is only one thing that seems to melt the cold silence.
The sound of music.
“Sing something for me” he asks. And I comply.
He asks for something with an orchestra to caress his melancholy. I sing for him each vibrato, each piano and forte, ringing the vocals through his ears.
His breath of awe is my only happiness as his mouth opens unconsciously to draw it.
There are days when only he exudes wonder and curiosity. Where he suddenly has the urge to go through his old songs from before me and rampages through them to see how they sound. I just love the way he comments on things he’s never heard before, the changed soundstage from what he remembered and how he always talks about how bad it was back then. That’s why I’m there after all. To show him the world that he wants to know.
Every time someone comes over, the first thing he does is make sure he show me to them. He beams as he tells them “This baby can show you a whole new world”. It's a wonderful feeling. He’s proud of me and wants to show the world how the world should be.