Like cascades of pouring water, the beaming light engulfed him. It shared its radiance equally among all on stage, and these beacons of life bathed in it; some, more than the other. The crowds’ approval was always arbitrary, but today he was greeted with roaring applause. Through the eyeholes of his slightly worn monochrome mask, he gazed to see the crowd and the feign lights, and he bowed to both gracefully. He had a knack of wearing monochrome masks.
Off the vicinity of the stage, to a gleaming director, he mentioned graciously, “For you, I work”.
The night was an ocean to a man who couldn’t swim; it seemed endless. And thus, he retired from the theatre company and revoked the beauty of immortal friendship.
He said concerningly at the home of his sick friend on the verge of death, his speech muffled and obstructed by the mask, "For you, I pray”.
Malleable emotion transformed him from feeling pain into feeling love, as he replied to his mistresse’s letter. He trodded home through the wearied path, wearied by his own steps towards home. He wrote with feverous passion, in euphoria with love. He wrote, “Angel, for you, I live”.
The night lost youth, and it was time for calmness. He stared through his figure reflected in the mirror, and then he stared right at it. In a faint murmur, but with a grasping certainty, his words filled his home to his unblanched reflection.
“For you, I work.”
“For you, I pray.”
“…and For you I live.”
His creased palms reached for his mask, and he removed it slowly, effortlessly- without breaking sight with his projection. He stared into the abyss, he gaped into his own eyes, and with his face uncovered, he watched his lips move in the truthful mirror…
“And now, I am at home”.
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