I have not left you, I'm still here.

All I've ever had for you are words.
They are still yours, though you hear
Them nor see them no more.

He hears them. No, better still
He knows them, and He knows you
Better than I can or ever will.

He loves you, His love is true.

 The sun is way the hell down in the south somewhere (perhaps Florida? Alabama? Mississippi?). No matter, in five days I'll be closer.

We have all taken turns standing on stage, watching strangers come and go. He exits right, she exits left. I have never seen him before, I shall never see her again. One flash and we shall all be gone. Perhaps we shall see each other at the curtain call. Maybe we'll even hold hands- before we hand our flowers to the director.

Everyone wants the limelight (I hear whisperings)

"Yours is big, cut it in half and perhaps we can stand in it together."

"The spotlight moves so much, how can I stay in it? Perhaps I shall just stand here, and wait for it to get to me.

"Move over, that's my spot."


My part is small, but I am written into the play. And I am satisfied.