when reality taints art

he mistook the stage for a pedestal but handed her a rosy script and made her the lead, so she put on the greatest show of her life.

the spotlight was on her but seated in that private box, it was him who dazed her, as merciless as the midsummer sun.

for her, it was all the same. her fate was written the same way, both on and off stage; the poison of love closing the curtains.

he watched her live a thousand lives, but never her own. to her, she was reborn every night. but to him, she was the girl who never lived, and so she never died. tears fogged up his eyes the first time he saw her,

and hers, the last time she saw him. can those who can foretell the future, see their own ill-fate playing out, too? what a cruel thing.

in the end, they both lived vicariously through art till reality tore through. maybe that is the tragedy of great love, it is great because it is all a show...and a show must end.

~sibyl (n.) a woman able to foretell the future