My hand slides into her hair. My other grips her waist, and I pull her in and kiss her like I’ve been starving.
The crowd erupts.
But I don’t hear them.
Because this, this right here… iseverything.
When we finally pull apart, she’s laughing, radiant, glowing.
And I know.
We survived.
We endured.
We chose each other anyway.
She is my light.
My life.
My home.
We won’t always have it easy, no one does.
But we will fight.
Together.
And nothing—not fear, not illness, not fate—is going to tear us apart.
Nothing at all.
EFFA
Bliss.
Utter, complete, undeniable bliss.
That’s the state I’m in right now.
I’m married.
The word still feels surreal when I turn it over in my mind.Married.I have a husband. I have a home in Ligonier. My bandmates and half the crew also have homes in the town we’ve claimed as our respite from the chaos that defines the rest of our lives. Ligonier has taken us in with open arms and loving hearts, like we’ve always belonged here.
They love having us.
And so far, the tabloids still have no idea we’ve taken up residence here. It’s our quiet victory, our safe haven. It reminds me of Nimbin back home in Australia. A place where people nod when they pass you and actually mean it. Where community isn’t a buzzword, it’s a lived experience.
It’s bliss.
Since moving here, the Safe Stage Initiative has been born.
Something steady built from something shattering.
Everyone has their part to play.
I was overwhelmed when the band, the crew, security, and even venue owners stepped up and said ‘yes.’ Safe Stage Initiative isn’t just a name now. Its policies are in place. Its bar staff is trained to recognize the signs before it’s too late. It’s the security teams who know what to look for. It’s designated safe rooms in venues where no one has to explain why they’re scared.
