Onstage: An Intimate Love Letter Reading
Dear _________,
I’m set to go onstage.
A small, intimate theatre with little fanfare. No grand marquee at the entrance, no mass-market announcement, no mobile-phone ad push to hundreds at random.
Simply a bare, black-top stage, twin lights arrayed at its center, a romance writer and erstwhile poet standing confidently, gratefully in the middle of the room, his voice and clear mind stage-show ready. But no theatrics.
There, in the shadowy distance, a few yards from his position, is a lone spectator, a spell-bound audience of one: You.
You have 250 creative options from which to select; 250 Pamper-Her-Fridays of which you choose a handful that have set your soul afire most.
I’m at your beckoning. Your wish(es) will be my performance. Whichever background, lyric-less music is your request will be my command. Or perhaps you’d prefer live instrumental accompaniment—string or keys. Or both.
It’s your show, my lady.
I’m your performer.
A fellow audience member will soon join you—unannounced—to be seated in the chair adjacent to your own: A bouquet of Friday roses, white with crimson tips.
After the final recitation, I’ll bow to your standing ovation. And then approach you with an unexpected gift. The signed and noted copy of my novel I’ll place in your hands, along with the clutch of flowers.
If you care to hug me in the moment, overwhelmed by the performance, helplessly enchanted by the night’s events, let it be known here and now: I’m a willing receiver of your embrace.
It’s your show, my lady.
I’m your performer.
Why?
It’s Pamper-Her-Friday.
Tonight.
Yours,
Rg2
_______________
***
Romance lives. -Rg2
© 2015 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®
Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2® 