I find myself going in circles around you, and each circle is narrower than the other, and before I know it, it’s one circle and I’m standing next to you, and I wonder if you can hear the crack in my voice, the muffled heartbeat. Movement becomes tied to you, and I was never able to dance, but those are my feet shifting uncomfortably, and those are my hands reaching for you. They seem to behave on their own, script or no script, but I think there’s a director scratching his head, wondering where he went wrong. Wrong cast? Wrong script? Or did the lead fall head over heels?
Now I have to ask the choreographer for a break, because I need to head backstage, take a few breaths and shake it all off.
But then again, if I shake off the stage fright, I still can’t shake you off.