We Are All Cynthia Rose, to Joe

Some people live like songs. Rare ones. Unforgettable ones. The kind that make you stop and really listen. Joe is that song. Bright, soulful, unexpected. A little funky, a little offbeat, and absolutely unforgettable.

From the the very start, music was at the center of who Joe is. Not just as a listener, but as a creator. He sings like the world depends on it. He writes lyrics that slips notes under the door of your soul. He plays with a joyful precision, like someone who feels music before he ever thinks about it.

One of the first things Joe and I connected over is Prince. It isn’t just a shared taste. It’s a shared language. The music, the myth, the freedom in it. That wild fusion of soul, sex, truth, and imagination. That is what draws us together, and what keeps us close. Joe bought me my first raspberry beret. And that tells you everything. About how much Prince meant to us, and how much I mean to Joe.

Joe doesn’t just love Prince’s iconic songs. He falls in love with the strange ones. The tender ones. The overlooked ones. And as I sit here and try to write words about Joe there’s one in particular I always comes back to: Starfish and Coffee. That gentle little tune about Cynthia Rose. The girl in the classroom who wears mismatched clothes, who eats strange breakfasts, who dances to her own rhythm.

Joe adores her.

I think, in a way, he sees himself in her. But more than that, he sees us in her. All of us.

Because dammit, Joe loves the women in his life. Absolutely, unutterably, and always, he loves us. We are his Cynthia Rose, every last one of us. He sees what makes us different and makes that the point. He takes our quirks, our rough edges, our too-muchness, and holds them up like treasures. If you have ever felt invisible, Joe makes you feel like a secret someone finally noticed. If you have ever felt like a misfit, Joe makes you feel like you were never lost. Just waiting for the right song.

Joe is a phenomenon. He is funny, sharp, endlessly witty. He can twist a phrase into something hilarious without ever dipping into cruelty. He doesn’t need to be mean to be clever. His humor includes. It doesn’t exclude. You always leave a conversation with Joe feeling lighter, seen, real.

And he celebrates his friends and his family like no one else I have ever known. Loudly, loyally, with his whole heart. He makes you feel like you matter. Like your story is worth telling. Like your weird little habits are magic. Like your voice is worth listening to, even if it shakes.

Right now, his presence hums in those of us who love him. I still hear his voice. Singing. Laughing. Reminding me to be bold, to be tender, to be exactly who I am.

And sometimes, when I need him most, I play that song. I hear the opening notes and he is there again. Swaying. Grinning. Maybe even dancing, just a little.

“If you asked her what she had for breakfast, this is what she’d say:

Starfish and coffee, maple syrup and jam…”

We are all Cynthia Rose, to Joe. And somehow, that makes everything feel okay.