Sometimes...
Sometimes amidst the thunderous applause with the flowers in her arms, she looks out over the footlights and catches a glimpse of a man, some silhouette out there in the darkness - just the right shape, just the right height. And the breath catches in her throat as she hopes, she hopes, that it will turn out to be he.
But it isn't.
And sometimes in her dressing room after the play is done as she sits and takes off her makeup, she looks in the mirror and sees behind her in the dark corners of the room, oh, something. Something that makes her think that perhaps he's there, hiding, waiting to spring out and surprise her, to sweep her off her feet. And she waits.
But there is no one there.
And sometimes in her hotel room - oh, the endless procession of hotel rooms! - as she sits conning her lines, she imagines him sitting across from her, running the lines together. And she smiles.
But then the smile fades.
And sometimes, sometimes, when she thinks of his dear face, his twinkling brown eyes, his goofy lopsided smile, his silver-tongued way with words - and how that failed him at the last, so that his best friend had to inform her that that sweet, beloved man was trying to propose to her... Oh, sometimes she wishes, how she wishes! that she had said Yes.
But she didn't.
Sometimes... she cries. But she never lets anyone see.
If only...