the audience applauded. the piece was done. and i saw you, sitting just rows away, going with the flow and clapping for the orchestra sitting onstage. slowly, the applause died, and the conductor raised her baton again, ready for the next piece. i looked over at you again. why did all the seats have to be taken? in that split second, i made a decision, and ran towards you. if sitting in the aisle meant being near you, then so be it.

"this is a sad piece," you whispered down to me.

then those blue eyes turned back to the stage, to the bows dragging across the strings, notes floating across the auditorium. stage lights hit your hair, spun gold in the darkness, your closed eyes, savoring the music, your fingers, playing the melody on an imaginary cello.

ironic, isn't it?

you wanted to watch the show,

but you were my show.


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