I felt like I was a little kid again, my eyes sweeping the crowd for a familiar face. But just like when I was as a kid, that face never appeared.
It's alright, I know she means no ill will, she has a really demanding job. I do too, so I get it. It's not like when I was a little kid, I softly chastise myself. Though, I worry. The flowers are becoming more frequent, both from outsiders, and myself. Still, I buy another ticket for my next show, and take it home with me. She'll make it to my next one, she promised to make it to at least one....
The question is, will I make it too?
I went to sleep with a soft smile on my face, rehearsing both my lines to my play, and the lines to my confession. I'm a quick healer, I'll make it. I fall asleep with the sun, ready for the next day.
I wake up the next morning, sore from staying on the computer all night, and check my phone. Only the goodnight text from that goofball. I should really apologize for missing his show. I think his next one is in 2 days. Maybe I'll be able to make that one. I have to, it's his last showing of that play. I promised, and I haven't broken a promise before.
That play never came. Sometimes plays reflect real life. I got a knock on my door later that day. It was my friend, and her boyfriend, and they had his things. His things? But he was still at home, unless he moved? He wasn't moving in with me, hell no, I haven't cleaned in 3 months.
Now I wish it was him moving it. It wasn't him moving in. It was his things moving in. Moving to a permanent spot on my bed, just like I was. I kept staring at that ticket. The ticket I never got to use. The play that never got to show.
This wasn't the final showing, his final showing had already passed...
I kept watching the recording, over and over, trying to process. There's no way, there's no way. I watch moments of him teasing me, moments where you could see, you could clearly see his emotions. I laughed, he really did talk with his body. That laugh slowed to a sob. He did show with his body. He showed with his eyes, the way they looked at me, the way voice would change when he would talk to me, the way-
The recording plays over and over again, the only sound in the night besides my soft breaths. One....two....three, one two three sheep danced around my head. They're white and fluffy. His hair was white and fluffy. I reach out towards the illusion of him, and make contact. No way, as I gently touch his face and his hair, trace his smile with my first finger. I rub his cheeks with my thumbs, and I just stare. I stare at his eyes, and I repeat what I see in them:
"I love you Romeo".
He says nothing, but he doesn't have to. He holds, me, and I let myself be held. It feels like in floating in his warm embrace. I smile. I let go.
The recording stops.
My picture sits next to his ticket. Our friends don't bring roses, we've had enough of roses.
"They really were Romeo and Juliet".
