Hozier’s powerfully passionate voice echoed throughout 20 Monroe Live, his soul bared, his heart on his sleeve, his hair dancing among the white lights.

His backup vocalists, guitarists, and pianists—equally as passionate—harmonized and hummed along with Hozier’s howls and shouts. They were all cloaked in black clothing, Hozier’s vocalists and instrumentalists, yet they were just as colorful as Hozier himself. A team up there. A unit. It was a sight to see: Hozier, the energetically chill man, surrounded by power and love and energy.

Hozier delicately plucking one of his many guitars—he had a different one strapped around his shoulder each song—with a gentle hand, a gentle voice, a gentle heart. Hozier alone, bathed in white light, singing the loveliest version of my favorite song: “From Eden.” The crowd singing— hardly any phones in sight—every single word, not too loud, though, for we wouldn’t want to overpower the man himself.

Hozier simply shrugged as he sang his most profound lyrics; they seemed to have more depth live, more poetic power to them. Just more. I heard his heart in them, and I wondered who stole it.

Prefacing another one of my favorite songs, “Wasteland, Baby” from his newest album which has an anecdote ending with the exact words “writing a few love songs for the end of the world,” the lights dimmed.  Hozier was—yet again—basking in a light that seemed was made for him only. No videos were taken. No photos.

I just stood, surrounded by the same amount of love I felt, watching Hozier sing his soul gently, yet deeply. Listening to the song where I truly heard the heart-wrenching depth of his lyrics, I stood in awe of the man who shut his eyes and strummed his guitar and sang about his baby.

Hozier thanking every single person who was a part of making his show happen, thanking them with genuine gratitude and kindness in his eyes, was a special sight to see. Or, as Hozier told us, “you are a fine, fight sight to see.”

He even speaks in sonnet, it seems, as he explained how “No Plan” is about the stars dimming and the sun exploding one day, so why worry about the little things? His explanation of the story behind the song changed my view of it—the sound of it. The vision of him raising his pointer finger as he sang about the stars running out of light is a picture impossible to capture with my iPhone 6s.

Bathed in blood-red streams of light, Hozier’s first encore song was “Cherry Wine,” the third slower song of the night and also one of my favorites. Only seeing him and his guitar, his fingers plucked the familiar rhythm of a song I listen to every single day, and yet, it sounded completely new.

Some songs I will never hear the same again, and this one—the one I listen to every day—falls under that category. I will now remember it by the red light, the gentle hums, the in-love crowd lightly singing along, and Hozier shutting his eyes and entering another place, another time, another world.

These are the images forever ingrained in my mind from the Hozier concert—a truly special night.