Without You.
Days without you.
Weeks. Years. Forever without you.
Life goes on, but why? What is there left?
Everything.
It is done. It is over. There is no more to be said.
And yet somewhere, maybe from within myself or from somewhere far off in the distance, I can hear the starting chords of the song I know so well: the song about love and life and the world we are forced to live in.
There is more left to do. The ones who come after will need to be shown our love, so that they can become part of the community that will never die. They are us, but without the joy of loving while it lived. We have to spread the word: tell them what we cannot show.
Broadway is incomplete. It will never be complete again. A part of what made it what it is today is missing, and we can never truly get it back. But if it cannot stay, then we must fill its place.
No more One Song Glory. No more La Vie Boheme. No more Finale.
But a world of Seasons of Love. Forever.
Because we love. And we remember. And we have the strength to never forget.
I do not know what else will happen to me, or to whoever reads this, or to anyone. Jonathan Larson didn't, and yet he told us that not knowing should only make us more eager to live. If I can't believe him, why should I believe anyone else?
I felt alone, but I am not. RENT will not leave me until I make the break, and I swear now, with any and all as my witness, that I will not do that. I am too changed to break from my lifeline now.
One side of the picture has been painted out. The other sides have no choice but to become brighter.
They were there. They created it. They brought it to life and the last twelve years can never be erased. Every picture, every interview, every memory and thought has existed. We are not alone. They are still here.
We are still here. And we will never leave.
The candle is thrown away; the curtains are closed. But the flame still burns. It burns and will never freeze.
We are here. And we are here to stay.
No Day But Today.
