The brilliant fluorescent lights come up onto the nearly empty stage. In the center, there is a young man who seems to almost shimmer among the cast of dark shadows that surround the curtains on the stage. The silence in the auditorium is almost deafening, bringing the pure statue of the boy to life. To me, he looked somewhere between a porcelain angel, and a marble, perfectly carved decoration. Then, he opened his mouth and let out just a few notes. In those moments, every single small hair on the back of my neck seemed to stand up. This boy was like a painting out of the Sistine Chapel, singing to the heavens, but dressed like a New York City fashion designer, and that just didn’t seem possible to me.

His name was Kurt Hummel, and he was perfect to me. Sometimes from far away, you would forget that he was a living person. His clothes were always perfect, and never the same. Today, he had on his baggy gray pants with a perfectly shiny vest. Even his bow tie seemed to melt into the background of his clothes. He flipped his brown hair into a half curl in the front of his head, causing his hair to look like a mix between a greaser, and a perfect, primed young man. His skin was white as snow, almost glowing in the dark. His smile lit up the room like a strobe light, flashing white against the darkness of his clothes today. But his eyes are what get you. The depth of the blue is something that goes without speaking. It like you dive into a chilled, wide ocean every time his bright eyes peer into yours. You seem to get lost in the sea of wonder, of excitement and for a moment, the pure and unmistakable caring this man seemed to project into the world.

My world, more specifically. Kurt meant more to me that anyone could ever have understood. He portrayed more strength than a person could ask for, and still gave more love than I could understand. More than that, he had enough talent to make even the rich, haughty, stuck-up opera singers would kill each other for. When Kurt opened his mouth to sing, everyone listened. And they fell in love with his voice. Most people could never understand the way that he could throw his voice up and down octaves, like the way that a baseball player can throw his ball. He could pick up anything and make it a stage prop, putting it into new uses that even a skilled actor could never think of. And he was made to be on Broadway, made to become big. Bigger than the moon, the sun, even space. I know that the way that he lit up the stage made the sun hide beneath the horizon. And even the stars could not match the light that seemed to illuminate Kurt’s eyes when he sang. He even made a hurricane jealous with the roar of applause he was guaranteed to receive at the end of his standing ovation. And like the wind through the trees, Kurt moved me in ways that no one could comprehend.

As I sit here and watch as Kurt Hummel shines in the glimmer of the stage left lights, it is amazing to me how special one person can be. He makes himself his own person, daring to be something no one else is. There is talk about him, about his preferences, about his singing. But it’s apparent that he doesn’t care who watches. He has let himself be surrounded by the ghosts that follow you backstage, the ones that were forever afraid to step into the light. But he can do it knowing that he has the courage to not be one of them. Kurt is like a superstar when he finishes his song, walking up to center stage, thanking everyone for coming out, bowing with such composure that you would never know that this theater is empty. The only time Kurt loses it is when he sees me walking towards him, pacing my steps to the last few beats of the music, no longer camouflaging my awareness of him. No longer being just a ghost in his cast of offstage characters.