With one man, there was a freedom and liberation. That was with

Host: The city was wrapped in neon and loneliness. A train rumbled beneath the streets, and the skyline pulsed with a dull, electric heartbeat. From the top floor of a forgotten bar, the view stretched endlessly — like a painting that had once been vibrant but was now fading at the edges.

The room was mostly empty, save for a faint haze of cigarette smoke, a jukebox glowing in the corner, and two figures sitting by the window.

Jack leaned against the wooden table, his shirt sleeves rolled up, a half-drunk whiskey beside him. His grey eyes caught the light, sharp, reflective, unreadable. Across from him, Jeeny sat quietly, her hands wrapped around a glass of red wine, her dark hair spilling softly over her shoulders. There was a kind of ache in the air — the kind that lingers after a song ends.

Jeeny looked out toward the city lights, and said, almost to herself:

Jeeny: “Kylie Minogue once said, ‘With one man, there was a freedom and liberation. That was with Michael Hutchence, my partner in life.’”

Host: The words floated between them, delicate yet powerful, like a melody remembered in fragments.

Jack: (half-smiling) “Freedom, huh? Strange thing to find in another person. Usually, that’s where people lose it.”

Jeeny: “Not when it’s real, Jack. Real love doesn’t trap you — it unties you.”

Host: Jack let out a low, husky laugh — the kind that carried both irony and exhaustion.

Jack: “You sound like you’re quoting a song. Love and freedom don’t belong in the same verse. You give yourself to someone, you lose a part of who you are. It’s simple math.”

Jeeny: “And yet, when she spoke about Hutchence, Kylie didn’t sound lost. She sounded found. Some people expand you, Jack. They make you more than you were.”

Host: The lights from the street painted soft gold lines across Jeeny’s face. Her eyes — deep brown, unwavering — seemed to hold both fire and sadness.

Jack: “Or maybe they just rewrite you, until you don’t even know where you end and they begin. That’s not liberation. That’s surrender.”

Jeeny: “Isn’t surrender sometimes the greatest freedom? To stop fighting who you are, to stop being afraid to feel? That’s what love like that does.”

Host: The rain began to fall — light, rhythmic, like fingers drumming on glass. The jukebox in the corner started playing an old INXS song — Never Tear Us Apart. Its slow, sultry rhythm filled the silence between them.

Jack: (listening, quietly) “Fitting choice.”

Jeeny: “He was wild, yes. But he made her brave. Before Hutchence, Kylie was the pop princess — polished, perfect, safe. But after him? She was alive. Her music, her energy, her edge — all changed. That’s what she meant by liberation.”

Jack: “You mean he corrupted her innocence.”

Jeeny: (shaking her head) “No. He awakened her truth. There’s a difference. He showed her that even within chaos, you can be free.”

Host: Jack’s gaze hardened for a moment, but the song — slow, sensual, nostalgic — softened it again. He remembered a face, a voice, a laughter once close to his.

Jack: “You talk about freedom like it’s always beautiful. But I’ve seen people destroy themselves in its name. Hutchence did, didn’t he? All that fire, all that passion — and he burned out. You call that liberation?”

Jeeny: (quietly) “Maybe it was the price of living too deeply. But tell me, Jack — would you rather feel nothing at all?”

Host: The rain outside grew heavier, blurring the lights into streaks of color. Inside, the song swelled — a voice full of longing and unspoken pain.

Jack: “Feeling everything doesn’t make you free. It makes you fragile. You open yourself to someone, and they can crush you — with a word, a silence, a goodbye.”

Jeeny: “And yet people still choose it. Over and over again. That’s the most human thing about us.”

Host: Jack’s hands trembled slightly as he poured himself another drink. His voice softened, low, almost broken.

Jack: “I once thought I found that kind of freedom. With someone who made the world... feel like it was breathing again. But when she left, it felt like I’d lost my lungs.”

Jeeny: “Then you know what Kylie meant. Because you felt it too — that liberation that comes with love, and the devastation that follows it. They’re part of the same truth.”

Host: The air grew thick with memory — the kind that tastes like smoke and sorrow.

Jack: “So what — we’re supposed to chase people who can both free us and destroy us? That’s madness.”

Jeeny: “Maybe it’s the only way to be truly alive. Hutchence wasn’t safe. He was real. And that’s what she loved — the danger, the desire, the honesty of it. Some souls are meant to burn together, not live in comfort.”

Jack: “And what’s left after the fire, Jeeny? Ashes. Just ashes.”

Jeeny: “Maybe. But ashes prove that something once burned.”

Host: The lights flickered; thunder rolled somewhere distant. For a moment, neither spoke. The jukebox shifted tracks — By My Side played now, low and haunting.

Jack: “You really believe love can set you free?”

Jeeny: “Not every love. But the right one — yes. The kind where you’re not owned, not caged, not performing — just seen. When someone sees you so completely that you stop hiding from yourself… that’s liberation.”

Jack: “Or delusion.”

Jeeny: “You’re afraid of it. That’s why you mock it. Freedom scares you more than chains do.”

Host: Her words cut through the smoke like light through fog. Jack leaned back, staring at her — not angry, but exposed.

Jack: “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’ve worn my chains so long they’ve started to feel like armor.”

Jeeny: (softly) “Then maybe one day, someone will take them off, not by force, but by love.”

Host: The rain slowed. The city outside glowed like a wet canvas, all blurred lines and trembling color. The two of them sat in that quiet aftermath — the kind that feels like the breath after a confession.

Jeeny: “You know what I think Kylie meant? It wasn’t just about Hutchence freeing her. It was that she found freedom through herself, because of what he reflected back. The love wasn’t the cage — it was the mirror.”

Jack: “A mirror that eventually shattered.”

Jeeny: “But for a while, it showed her who she was. And that’s more than most people ever get.”

Host: Jack’s eyes softened. The edge in his tone melted into something like respect.

Jack: “Maybe you’re right. Maybe freedom doesn’t mean walking alone. Maybe it means walking with someone who lets you keep your soul intact.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Someone who doesn’t own your wings, but flies beside you.”

Host: Outside, the clouds began to break, revealing a faint silver glimmer of moonlight. The last notes of the song faded, replaced by the faint hum of the city — alive, pulsing, infinite.

Jack raised his glass, his voice low and steady.

Jack: “To freedom, then. And to the ones who make it possible.”

Jeeny: (raising hers) “To the ones who make us brave enough to love.”

Host: Their glasses clinked, the sound small but eternal. Outside, the rain finally stopped. The streetlights shimmered on the wet asphalt, and the moon — pale, watchful — broke free from the clouds.

In that moment, the city felt quieter, lighter — as if something unseen had been forgiven.

And somewhere, in the soft echo of the jukebox, Michael Hutchence’s voice lingered, whispering through time:
"We all have wings, but some of us don’t know why."