It isn’t a show to me
Instead it is a demonstration of a lifestyle that I want nothing more than to be a part of.
The second part is where it gets meaty, and of course, I love that.
As dreadful as it may sound, I fall in love instantly with any art that makes me tearful and trembling.
This most certainly does.
I had that same reaction- seeing a beloved die, and needing to feel them being alive, in order to complete my closure.
Thankfully the boy is more affectionate than most, and nearly choked me by hugging so tight, but in this case I didn’t mind one bit.
I feel nearly as much a part of all this, as he.
I see them and want to sing along, until my voice is no more.
I feel challenged to be just as outwardly eccentric and loving, and believe me, darling, I could do it.
I love the rawness- the realism.
One minute it’s complete fluff and color, and the next, it’s a grey and grey world where you begin to see the blood.
I’m too fussy with favorites, but believe me, I adore this.
I would give myself entirely to it, despite not getting to this year.
There’ll be other chances, I hope.
But I adore it wholeheartedly, nothing can stop me.
I will live that life past the stage door.
And most of all, I will love outwardly.
I promise to try.
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