Rhapsody

//02: the tickets.

i step out onto the curb,
into the chill of the evening air.
the sun's still shining brightly behind these buildings.
it's summer, so i doubt it'll be dark for
quite a while.

you take my hand and smile at me
and i smile back. i'm sure my eyes are
as bright as yours, or even more. although
i don't really believe that: nobody else could possibly have
stars in their eyes, the way you do.

i can smell the freshness of rain in the air:
a storm has just passed by
here. the ground's still wet--be careful
when you walk, don't slip or step in a puddle
(it's okay, i really badly want to, too.)

the lights are on at the box office,
and there are people milling around the lobby.
so many evening dresses and suits and even
t-shirts and jeans. go mingle
if you like. i'm not as good at it as you are.

oh, there's no need to pay me tonight;
these tickets were free. a friend
gave them to me. we've got great seats,
you'll see. we can see the stage properly:
the pianist's hands, the cellist's face, everything.

come on now, we should get inside;
it'll be starting in just a few minutes.
we don't want to be late, it would be rude...
despite how generic that speech is going to be.
but we're here for the music, remember?