I call her my midnight whisperer, though I’ve never heard her voice. Once, I called her my whisperer from the past, because she had named me her Future Man. She lives inside my head and Three Doors Down. Not literally, but in the way a song lives there. That song. It never belonged to me until the radio caught me one night, stalling me on a stretch of highway that asked nothing of me but the hum of tires and the glow of t...