Although I had, at least on the surface, tossed Buckley into the "Only one worthy song" pile, I remember with amazing clarity my encounters with Jeff Buckley.

I remember hearing "Last Goodbye" for the first time. I wasn't particularly impressed. I was thrown off by the lack of a repeating chorus paired with long instrumental sections as they were not a common combination in the majority of songs played on the radio.

I remember requesting "Last Goodbye" on the radio a week or two after first hearing it. I remember the DJ saying to me, "Oh, so your a big fan of Jeff Buckley?" and me not then realizing that he seemed a little surprised to hear the voice of a thirteen-year old girl requesting Jeff Buckley instead of the new Pearl Jam.

I remember a few weeks after that, going into the music store and finding "Grace" in the used section for $7.99, the perfect price for my preteen wallet.

I remember how excited I was that Jeff was included in "People's 50 most beautiful people" issue (my guess would be 1995?) I also remember how I tore his entire page out of the magazine and taped it on my wall, where it's stunning beauty stood out from the choppy pictures of Scott Weiland and Gavin Rossdale that covered every inch of the wall space surrounding it.

I remember the day I heard that Jeff Buckley was missing. I was a sophomore in high school and my mom had heard it announced on the radio station on her way home from work.

I remember hearing that he was, indeed, dead. I was distraught. When I informed my friends of the news, I was met at first with, "Who?" where I then explained he sang "Last Goodbye" getting the response of, "Oh yeah...wow.." At first I couldn't explain it. We had all liked that song, why was I so much more upset than my friends were?

Until recently, I had never thouht about the fact that I was so incredibly moved by just one song. My friends new "Last Goodbye" because I had played it for them. My mother knew it was important to retain the newsbite because of how much I had talked about him. I felt crushed when I heard the news of his death.

Still, I never played the album.

It wasn't until my freshman year of college that I listened to "Grace" in its entirety. And I became a new person. I couldn't believe I had such a treasure in my possession for so long and had denied myself the chance to enjoy it. The words were so raw and honest, poetic and melodious. Notes hit by instruments and Buckley alike made me feel with my entire body. My fingers and toes buzzed, my eyes watered, my stomach churned. My heart ached, every second palpitation pumping a shot of joy to mix with the melancholy, creating a strange mix of emotions where sadness turns to happiness turns to wistfulness in the blink of an eye. Still when I hear Jeff Buckley's music, I feel as if my heart will explode with emotion. I can't express in words my feelings when listening to Jeff Buckley because they change at such a rapid pace, I can't get the words out fast enough.

A part of me believes that i was being held back from listening to "Grace" before I was ready. I had to wait until I could absorb it completely. Maybe if I had listened to the album too soon, I would have repelled it and never given it a second chance. A part of me believes that it was some part of my mind, my soul, that knew, even at a young age, that I was listening to a musical prophet. That same part of methat would come to realize the talent of other poets such as Elliott Smith and Duncan Sheik, and that would allow me to fully appreciate David Bowie.