He lived as if his only purpose was to hold everyone else together. On stage, he was invincible; off stage, he was a man quietly unraveling in rooms filled with trophies and emptiness. Those closest to him now admit they saw flickers of exhaustion, moments where his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, but the machine around him never slowed. The world praised his strength while unknowingly applauding his disguise.
In death, he has forced us to confront a truth we keep postponing: brilliance does not cancel out pain. The artists who score our happiest memories may be fighting battles they’re too afraid to name. Honoring him now means more than replaying his greatest hits; it means changing how we see the living. Listening when the jokes get darker. Asking twice when someone says they’re “fine.” Allowing breakdowns before they become farewells. His greatest legacy may yet be the lives saved by finally hearing what he could never say aloud.
