I spent days upon weeks memorizing those lines.

Those lines of a story that were not my own, yet I would still portray them as if they were upon        stage. That stage of brown wood behind the curtains of dark apple red.

Those lines raced with vigor and passion from my head to the tingly tips of my fingers as I said them over and over and over again to myself, looking mad repeating them emotionally beyond reason, hoping there would be a forever sketched image of these tedious words imprinted in my head, so I would not forget them on this one night to perform. 

Those lines I knew had to become apart of me. I had to become a man from another time and place, a man possibly mad or simply angry at the world around him. Could I truly lose the fear of being someone else, or simply lose myself instead.

Those lines oh I do so hate you! Yet i love you because you make me mad. You make me look at the simple things in life, look at who or what I am upon this mortal coil we call life. You make me laugh and cry when I need to do so the most and to most of all, have hope. To have hope that life can be full dreamers and original thinkers and creators. To know that man and women can sing at that top of their lungs and be heard for the world to think of hope as well. 

Those lines I thank you even though I might at times not remember you, you are with me always. So  finally behind those curtains of dark apple red, I walk upon that stage of brown wood and utter the beginning of those lines "The show must go one."