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Yours, the eternal romantic

Sometimes, while waiting for a play to start, I look around the theater and find myself thinking (wishing), maybe I will find him here.

This happens, too, in airports and train stations, and other places that I know for sure will be birthplaces of beautiful memories.

We will watch plays together, I imagine, and he will delight in my laughing out loud at a punchline and pretend not to notice when I wipe away a maybe inappropriate tear (he will know that sometimes, when something -- a scene, a line, a song -- reminds me of how much I love my country and my home, I can end up crying).

We will have a late dinner after, I imagine, and he will take me to a quaint restaurant that also serves coffee and happily offer me dessert. He will know that my favorite part of watching a play is the conversation after, and he will be amused that I have somehow, once again, managed to relate fiction to my life.

He doesn't even have to like theater; just him liking me liking it is enough.


Wrote this in the cab that took me home from the PETA Theater after watching Rak of Aegis. There will be a second run from June to August (I think). Catch it!

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