She stood waiting outside the theatre,
An old, greying, spotted structure.
It was a ritual – once a week
She came for what they called a sneak peek.

On these days she was dressed at her best
A gypsy gown, some beads and a faded orange hat.
A kind neighbour had given her the gown
Before she had packed her bags and left town.
The beads were a gift from an old flame,
In her mind it sported a happy frame.
But it was the hat that people didn’t forget
And was dear to her very own heart.

The old clock-tower in front of the theatre chimed,
The small arm struck four & she smiled.
The matinee show would be trooping out
Lovers, friends, spouses – all in that crowd.

She had no date,
No hand to hold.
No protective arm to squeeze
No one from whom to steal a kiss.

She looked at the happy faces around,
Broken promises came back to haunt.
So did black love and the gaping hole
That now was her soul.

Unkind words, lies and cruelties
And the trick played by bad memories.
Each time she thought the mourning was done,
He crawled back into her mind and skin.

But today, she had come determined
To leave the memories of her past behind.
She would fete his absence
And the phantasmagoria would end.

And just like that,
The end credits would roll.
It was the last port of call
Before she decided to set sail.

The more things changed
She knew they stayed the same.
She looked at the theatre
And smiled at her seeming edifice of love.

She would be gone tomorrow
Along with her, memories and sorrow.
But then she knew love would find its sweet spot here
And bring two people closer inside the theatre.