Hat Full of Stars: For Cyndi
Cyndi —
you may not remember me,
but I remember every moment.
Chicago, Borders Books.
You stood there — light in your eyes,
and I handed you a tribute made only of your songs.
I said Shine saved my life,
and when you stopped to wipe away your tears,
I knew that maybe, somehow,
my true colors had reached you.
Years later — Minneapolis.
Your band laughed and sang,
“Oh Mickey, you’re so fine,”
and for a heartbeat, I believed it.
But the night slipped away,
and you were gone —
off to another city, another crowd,
another edge of the earth.
I saw you again in Australia,
promoting Shine,
the same light that pulled me back
from the world that once felt stone.
I stood there, remembering that boy
who thought he was too different,
too broken,
and hearing your voice say —
Go on. Don’t cry no more.
Then, San Diego Pride.
The air was thunder and color,
and when you sang True Colors,
the whole crowd turned into light.
Every lost soul —
every lonely heart —
sang it back to you.
Time after time,
your music found me.
All through the night,
you gave me courage.
When the world was cold,
you gave me warmth.
When I fell down,
you said, I’m gonna be strong.
You gave me a reason
to keep a hat full of stars
and a heart that still believes.
So Cyndi —
you may not remember me,
but I’ll never forget you.
You were the voice that carried me home,
the sound of hope
in a world that needed color.
And if this finds you,
know that somewhere,
this little boy blue you once made believe in himself
still shines —
all through the night.