visions.

A quiet thought.

I'm standing side-stage, of an overwhelmingly large auditorium, the kind with three balconies and exclusive boxes attached to the walls, where royalty may have once sat. There's a large, red velvet curtain that is concealing the stage, and the gentle lull of nervous, anticipating conversation is swimming throughout the audience. The stage is occupied by only one item: a simple, elegant, black grand piano.

From the other side of the stage, I can see you anxiously pace from one wall to the next. You're not nervous, rather you're excited, and when you glance over to my side of the stage, you flash me this smile, as if to say, "I know something that you don't." You've never been good with secrets, and sooner than later the entire auditorium will be on the inside. The house lights are dimmed, subtly, and the auditorium is hushed. The curtain is drawn, and you make your entrance, in pure beauty. The audience claps, quickly, as to not waste any more time; everyone is just as excited to discover this secret you want to share. So you bow, politely, and smile at the audience the same way you smiled at me. You sit down, and right before you press the first key, you look up, and nod towards me; your eyes tell me, "this one's for you."