The procession ushers itself forth. Existentialism on Prom...no, whatever night. I could live, if only through you.
The spotlight looms ominously nearby. It pauses and collects itself. Could it come this way and would I want it to? I pull the curtains close around me, and only my face shows to the crowded audience. They stare as if examining a bizarre zoo creature.
I hope.you like.my work.
Because I don't know how else to tell you who I am.
I take a bow and expect the silence, but I hope for an applause. Just, please, pick up the phone and let your voice stick inside my ear.
It's all so much more important to me than even I'd like to believe.
"I really hope you like my work."
Good Morning... ;)
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