on the lower levels, there are faces which lines the walls. past stars captured in former glories; their status secured and permanent. the people are reverent and whisper at low tones, so as not to disturb other patrons.
at standing-only tables nearby, people gather to sip flutes of cold champagne. the glasses clink together and the laughter is dampened by velvet walls. the illumination is deliberate and indirect; the world has become a cocoon of dim glows and reverie.
who were those people in those images? how did they live so large? did they have a love in their life? did they have happiness to counterpoise the work put in to be chosen? how much fame did they enjoy, or was it a passing moment like a supernova in the dark black of space? did they have someone to take care of them after the footlights dimmed? are they remembered with joy and immortality?
the tones sound throughout the theatre and maroon festooned ushers calmly resume their duties. after a few moments, the space retains only a select few, still opting to linger amongst the memory of yesteryear.
don't wait to speak. say it, confident and open. mean it, with intention and honesty. now is the right time, and the time is right now.