Often, Dear Playwright, I Think of You

Perhaps I was too young to understand, my life experience too small to comprehend the meaning behind your words.

After the play, you waited outside in the lobby. I did nod at you in acknowledgement, but quickly glanced away from your hopeful gaze. I could not hide my discomfort.

I know more now. Having been with one for some time now, I grasp somewhat what loss can be.

That day I did not understand what you were trying to say. But I remember your words, the unspoken questions in your eyes.

And often, dear playwright, I think of you.

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