to make my final bow
it wont be the lights that will matter
but the hands that held mine
as i wait for my name to be called
or not to be, maybe...
when the orchestra reaches crescendo
it wont be the note playing in my mind
but the breath you held close
to mine, bridging our lives
as the show ends, and lights turned off
one by one, i'll close my eyes
and remember not their applauds
but your sweet nod of approval
and i shall leave the center stage
with no regret, and run backstage
where you will be, waiting
to hold me back in your arms
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