on stage thirteen, you had just a brief appearance. but then you wrote a scene that revolved around you, and it was a big success on stage fourteen. it was so popular with audiences, in fact, that its original run of a few weeks stretched out infinitely, and soon it was seen on stages fifteen through eighteen, as well. it ran for a short while on stage nineteen, but it was getting old, and finally closed. programs and ticket stubs were fondly tucked away for posterity, with the knowledge that every so often they would be dusted off and memories would be relived by the colorblind in black and white. my single eye was on you as you stood on the stage, shoes and suspenders shining in the brilliance of spotlights. you were a cyclops, and i was blind. i called your bluff, you called mine, and the end came gradually. i didn’t mind. i wasn’t who you were, and you were no longer what i had become. on stage twenty there was a star in your honor, but you weren’t asked to reprise your role. another leading lady trod the boards with you, and you became her knight in shining armor. i am a poet, not an actress.