Welcome to the fourth installment in this series. Some basic house rules before we proceed together.

First, if you have somehow reached this story without reading the three that preceded it, then you can find them hereand hereand here. If you attempt to proceed without reading it, you may indeed find immense satisfaction but will certainly find hopeless confusion as well.

Second, as previously promised, I will be giving you a musical guide to compliment the written word. These songs helped me write these words, put me in touch with my soul, and in some cases, brought me back to these moments you will read about.

I suggest listening to the music softly while you read. However, you may do as you wish.

If you have duly prepared yourself, then I have no further reason to delay you.

Now where were we... a couple days before we went to dinner...

I'm A Mess - Ed Sheeran

Another week or two passed before I saw her again. I had recently discovered some of my best friends in my dorm were exceptionally musically talented. We took a guitar, a djembe (an African drum) and went to a park that was a block away from our building. Engaging in our favorite pastime, we played beneath the Italian sun. They jammed on the instruments, and I sang. We started goofing off, and I sang random lyrics that were born in that moment. A few moments later, we had an original song, and the Buonarroti Boys were born.

We got a gig playing a big spring bash at our dormitory. All the students (well over 100) were invited, and we could bring guests. I’m sure it’s not tough to guess who my first invite was sent out to…

She accepted, and what had originally been a laid-back and fun gig soon morphed into something I took as seriously as an opening performance on Broadway. Maybe that’s an over exaggeration, but the point is it was not just a normal gig for me. I was going to be singing, and she would be in the audience. She had never seen me sing before, and I wanted it to be great.

It also held deeper meaning for me. Up until this point an incredible picture had been painted for me as to who this girl was, but I had not done the same for her. I realized just how little about myself had been spoken of in our conversations.

Music has always been something spiritual for me. I am by no means a great performer, but my first crush was always the stage and my first love, singing.

I was the stereotypical music kid in high school. I was in choir, theater and even at one point a "band" class. I sang, acted, hosted and performed my way through high school. It was my release, and I relished every opportunity I got to do it.

Just as I had to find myself again on this journey, I also had the exquisite pleasure of rediscovering my love for music and the arts. In the few years leading up to my departure for Europe, my only audiences had been my car and my shower head. Not to be belittled, they were an adoring audience and my most loyal fans through many a difficult time.

You see, the thing about standing on stage in front of a bunch of friends and strangers that keeps me coming back every time?

The vulnerability.

When you step out beneath those lights before a breath can be taken or a note can be played, there are only two forces present in that moment in time: you and your audience. The audience being a mix of people you have never known, will never meet and people who will love you no matter what comes out your mouth in the coming minutes or hours.

You, the person on stage, well that’s an entirely different animal.

When you stand there in front of a room full of people, their attention focused on you and what you are going to say, what you are going to do…it’s the most vulnerable one can be. It's the reason I wanted her to see me perform because there was never going to be a moment where I was more vulnerable than in front of her on that stage.

If you sing the first note horribly off-key, there is no going back, only forward. There is no one else to help you or save you. You have to save yourself and those people will be out there watching whether you do or not. When you mess up on stage in front of hundreds of people, no one is going to get you out of it except yourself, but if you treat them well, the audience will hold you up even when you have made a complete fool of yourself.

Even if you sing that first note perfectly, that doesn’t mean you will sing the next one perfectly. The people may love you and the people may hate you. But if you step on that stage and pour your heart and soul into the microphone, good or bad, people will respect you, and they will stand by you whether they love your performance or not.

That has been my mantra every time I get in front of someone to perform. No matter the result, if you put your heart on your sleeve on your soul on the front of your shirt, then they will lift you up whenever you need them to. Sometimes it goes perfectly, others terribly, but regardless of the result, the audience is always going to be there; they aren’t going to disappear.

So one could understand my nervousness as the day of the performance arrived and dusk firmly gripped the courtyard we were playing as I scanned the crowd for her constantly. The pre-performance butterflies jumbled with the anxiety of putting myself out there for her to see. I didn’t seem to think too much of the other few hundred or so people that crowded the courtyard that would also hear us play.

As it got closer to our time to play, I found her. She was a vision, although by this point I had come to expect nothing less. She was chatting with some girls she had come with and I could not help but let a soft smile creep across my lips as I watched them stand by the table of mini-sandwiches and converse.

I slipped into the long line of famished Italians just far enough away that she would not see me, and I could bump into her "accidentally" without being too obvious. I swiftly weaved up the line and popped in next to her and acted as if it was the biggest surprise in the world that she had shown up. Looking back, perhaps it was a teeny bit overplayed, but if it was, she certainly didn’t let on.

She introduced me to her friends, and as I shook their hands I tried desperately to pick up their names but the fog of emotion that had clouded my mind earlier had become a full maelstrom, and I was finding it hard to pay attention.

Now it was real.

We had spoken, we each knew that the other was here and what our expected roles were as the evening played out. There was no going back, and as much as it excited me, my nerves were amplified thousands of times over.

She told me that she was excited to see me sing. I told her I was excited that she would be in the audience. We made customary small-talk as expected within the bounds of an adequate social interaction, and I let her get back to her friends before I could inflict too much damage with my nervous chit-chat.

Then it was time. We stepped on the small raised stage and lights came on. I looked at our little band of merry men and they looked at me. I smiled, nodded and we were off. We played seven songs and consumed nearly 40 minutes of time on that gorgeous evening in the waning days of spring.

A Sky Full Of Stars - Coldplay

As the notes rang out through the speakers they seemed to cut through the crisp night. We got off to a great start and played a great show. All of our songs were in English, save one, but we had picked exceptionally popular songs in order to keep our audience, nearly all Italian, involved. It was a strategy that seemed to work well as they sang along with nearly every song. It was the best audience I have ever had the privilege of performing for.

I found her standing out there within seconds of stepping up to the microphone.

She was not far from the stage. I could see her clearly even through the blinding glare of the colored lights. I looked straight at her as the first notes played out and seeing her standing there with that beautiful smile painted across her face gave me the confidence I had never previously known.

There were no jitters, no nerves, no apprehension and no haunting self-doubt. I was energized, excited and alive. I always feel at home behind a microphone, perhaps owed to a childhood of choir and theatre performances.

I can say with certainty that I had not felt that happy and alive in quite some time. I was singing to her. I am not sure if she knew it then, but I certainly hope she knows it now. Every word, every note and every syllable was put forth with her as the centerpiece of my achingly twisted heart.

She had helped me rediscover myself. She helped me remember who I was, what I love, what it feels like to love blindly and recklessly. I found the strength to be completely vulnerable on a stage again. My passion for people and the world had been reawakened and it was a roaring fire.

All this not as the direct result of any action taken by her bearing any specific consequence. Just the existence and presence of such a light on my path after walking alone in the dark for such a long while.

On that stage I was on fire. My friends screaming my name from the front two rows only further fueled my reckless cadence.

I sang and screamed and yelled and whistled. I did not sing every note right. I’m not even sure I sang most of them correctly, but I didn’t care. I was up there with my heart on my sleeve and my soul on my shirt, and she was there to see it. If the picture before her was displeasing, then she never gave a hint. I could see her eyes sparkling through the stage lights. When she sang along to the music I would lose my mind and dance and jump around that stage.

I met her eyes as often as I could and every time it was like pouring gasoline on a raging fire. I wanted to jump, scream, dance and yell. I wanted to jump off the stage and kiss her right there. I wanted to tell anyone who would listen that the biggest star that night was not singing or playing or even watching over from above them, she was standing amongst them.

Halfway through the set we played a few Coldplay songs. "A Sky Full of Stars" spoke to me in particular that evening. Of all the stars in the sky I could not conceive who had thought me lucky or worthy enough to have allowed this guiding light to fall directly into my life.

I’ve always had a well-known love affair with the heavens and all of their companions. I’ve spent countless lovelorn hours trying to see as many of those comforting balls of light as my eyes could perceive. For the first time in my life when I look to the heavens I don’t look for all the stars, only hers.

I strain my eyes to find that guiding light with the hope that when I do lay eyes on it the coolness of the evening will be filled only with the warmth of its glow. Some nights I see and feel it more clearly than others but it’s always there. I just had to learn how to see rightly and listen closely.

After playing a few reggae jams, our original song and rousing medley of Italian songs, our performance was over, and we were ecstatic.

Hear Your Heart - James Bay

After a barrage of celebratory hugs, handshakes, kisses and congratulations, I stumbled upon her again.

Her reaction was so positive, although to be completely honest with you, I would be lying if I told you I remembered exactly how positive. I was flying so high in the sky the words flowing from below sounded only like whispers in the wind and passed from my reach before I even so much as a chance to reach out and grab them.

As it turns out, what she said to me later that night would not dance away from me so easily.

All of us made our way outside the dormitory to begin drinking on the street together as everyone made their plans for the rest of the evening. The main question being whether to go to the club or not.

She joined us for a while with the girls she had come with. One of her friends spoke very good English and we hit it off right away and soon found ourselves entrenched in conversation. Well one of us did anyways.

The woman of my affections was off chatting with another group of people. For the first 10 minutes or so I did not mind so much being in an external conversation, but after 30 minutes, I began to get restless. My manners worn out, and I continued on with her friend. But I would be lying if I said I was not also looking for a polite way to press pause on our conversation so I could go talk with her before the night wore on too long.

Sure enough my opening came, and I took it. As I walked up to her she immediately told me she was surprised and sad to have found out I was leaving for home in three weeks.

I was taken aback. First, by the fact that she didn’t know I would be leaving soon. Turns out if you create a sense of urgency within yourself because you have a looming expiration date with a particular person that information is not automatically conveyed to anyone beyond yourself unless you actually chose to convey it.

Second, because she was SAD TO HAVE FOUND OUT I WAS LEAVING FOR HOME IN THREE WEEKS!!

I told her I was sad to leave and it was true. The country, the places, the people had all welcomed me with open arms and had firmly established themselves as critical to my growth.

What she told me next is something I will never forget as long as I live.

She paused to collect her words. I leaned in listening with great intent having no idea the impact of what she was about to say would catch me so violently off balance it would knock me off my feet.

“No matter how much time passes or where our paths take us…when we meet again…you and I, we will be the same” she said to me.

I was speechless.

I was broken.

I was fixed.

I was breathless.

I was ruined.

I was over the moon.

I was a puddle on the sidewalk.

When I finally manage to coax my tongue to break the seal, the only reaction I could muster was near perfect imitation of my favorite word she would say when she found something remarkable.

“Wow”

Yup.

Wow.

Those words brought comfort to my aching heart and calmed the maelstrom that had been ravaging my mind for weeks. That sense of urgency that I thought I needed was gone. Quenched by a singular sentence.

She had such an enormous impact on me by just being who she is. By being a bright light at this crossing on my path. Even when I was struggling with demons she knew nothing about she cast them all away by just being her.

It was like she had heard my heart penetrating the silence in the air that cool night. Heard its cadence, heard it catching its breath every time I laid eyes on her, heard it melting every time I watched her walk away from me.

I had not spoken a word or given her any other indication of the turmoil I was struggling with inside. Not to say what she saw from me was not genuine, because it was, but only the rosy perspective of it because that is all I conveyed to her. Yet she seemed to hear it's aching cries regardless and with a warm touch dried its eye's and brought calm to the raging storm.

It was like she knew by some magic or some greater instinct that those words were exactly what I needed to hear from her to help me keep my faith in the unknown path before me.

I love to talk (if you haven't already figured that out) and all I could muster was that one word because my mind was a mess and my heart was overflowing.

I looked at her and smiled. Her eyes bringing me back down from whatever high I was experiencing in that moment. I looked at her and I told her the truth.

I told her I would never forget those words as long as I lived. I told her she was the most exceptional woman I had ever met. I told her I hoped that I would not have to wait long for our paths to cross again once they split off. Truthfully, I prayed to whatever forces are out there that they would never have to split in the first place.

I thought that was it for us; that it was impossible to experience even more magic than I had felt that evening by hearing those words, locking eyes and singing to her from a microphone on a stage.

Boy was I wrong. As it turns I wouldn’t have to wait too long to proven wrong because three days later I really did see her do something inexplicably magical right before my very eyes…but that’s another story…