the only everything

the roll of wooden chairs on in a red light – burning a hole in the stage, my character shoes piercing the dust, the chalklines of europe etched onto the paint — our laughter, our light, the gravity of history ; curled hair bits and short black wigs and fishnets and garter belts and all the ways i am tied and twisted into costume ; the way that melody warps its way around us all, the hum of our feet hitting the notes, the swell of our bodies rolling and rotating towards each other / the flush of greys, tans and german accents / the flow of trust, the curtain of sensuality, the rush of the band, the glow of the lights, dim; select – the tap of our heels as we tiptoe backstage, trying not to make a sound, the blue light of the wings swelling about wooden planks – the endless rush, the joyous sound, the love of creation, the curl of friendship / dragging my fingers across my legs, balancing on a wooden stool, placing my weight just here or there to make sure this rickety old thing carries me; heaving through sickness ; braving through personal trials, and endlessly finding comfort in the stage; comfort in the wings, in the glow of the lights, in the forgetting of problems and the finding of community; i would never trade it for anything – it will never stop curing my heart of any pain ; it will never stop giving me strength and clarity ; i will never stop being inspired and in love with the theatre ; the boards, the wings, the lights, the journey, the creation — gratitude is the only everything i take away

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