I do not own The Greatest Showman.

My seven year old is obsessed with it. Seriously, he scream-sings the songs on the swings at the playground. It's adorable.

Rewrite The Stars

They had been circling one another for weeks, months.

While Barnum galavanted off after his singing bird, Jenny Lind.

After the openly disastrous theater attempt, preceded by the privately disastrous opera event, Anne had flatly refused to leave the confines of the circus with him.

"Everyone will stare," she'd told him. "I'm done being gawked at, humiliated. The help. Reaching above her station."

He'd begged, pleaded, cajoled.

"Please, Anne. I won't be cowed by them. Not anymore. I'm different now."

But the arealist was tough, stubborn.

"It won't work" she'd emphasized time and again.

For her own self-preservation, he knew.

"We can't be together, Phillip."

And yet, he knew she wanted to.

And they had been.

After a fashion.

Stolen kisses in the shadows, secret rendezvous under the eaves.

He left roses in her quarters, chocolates in her belongings, love notes in her gear.

Rewrite the stars with me.

-P.

He even endured the intimidating, unblinking stares of her glowering, protective, older brother.

"W.D. Morning."

"Mr. Carlyle."

The knowing looks of Letti, her amused laughter, teasing winks.

All these things and more.

All in good nature.

Because he loved her, Anne, he did.

The mere thought of her made him feel happy, elated.

Elevated.

There was no denying the depth of his feelings for her.

And, he thought, he hoped, he dreamed, her feelings for him were the same.

But it couldn't be denied or ignored that . . .

"Anne, I,-"

"Don't. Don't say it. Please."

. . . there was a barrier, a wall, between them.

"You don't want me to?"

"I - I can't let you."

And all he wanted . . .

"Anne-"

"Phillip. Don't."

. . . was to tear it down.

And just be with her.

His heart swelled, ached whenever he caught sight of her.

It felt good, it hurt.

All together it felt like everything he had never been able to express in any of his, or witnessed properly expressed in anyone else's, plays.

Like nothing he had ever seen between his cold, distant, prim and proper parents.

Other couples of his previous 'station'.

The love. The wonder.

The joy.

The devotion.

Anywhere she was.

Everywhere she was.

His favorite was where he had first seen her.

Aloft.

On the trapeze.

The ring.

The ropes.

". . . do you do that? It's amazing."

And she would smile.

Blush.

Avert her eyes.

And not reply.

A magician never reveals their secrets.

And that she was.

Beautiful. Ethereal. Graceful.

Confident. Sure, up there in the air.

Free.

Admired.

Adored.

And full of magic.

He followed her out there, from time to time, while she trained.

Down on the ground, in the dust, the strewn straw.

Head tilted up, searching for her in bright spotlight and blind shadow.

Sometimes she played tricks on him in her gayer moods.

Whooshing down out of nowhere, cuffing him lightly on the shoulder, flying away just out of reach.

Light laughter floating down upon him, sparkling along with the dust motes that never settled.

Never settled, like her.

Sometimes she tried to teach him, the flight, the freedom, of the circus.

He often crashed, sometimes with her.

They'd both been left with various bruises, cuts, contusions.

But he had never cared.

So long as he was with her.

Sometimes she hid from him, high up in the rafters, out in the open air.

Using the ring, the ropes, to divert his advances, confound him, conflict him.

Keep herself out of reach, safe.

On the briefest of reprieves allowing him an embrace, a fleeting moment.

And then he would gain a glimpse of what it could be like with her, when she smiled, when she touched him, allowed him to touch her.

Then withdrawing, removing herself, soaring up and away out of reach again.

Sometimes he would pursue, climb, scale, the very barricades between them, with all his strength and heart, in an effort to reach her, his lofty lovely angel.

"Ann, please let me say it, I-"

'No, Phillip. I can't hear it. Hear it and not live it.'

And he'd beseech her again.

"But we can live it."

"No, we can't. Not for real. Not out there. And you know it."

And he did, he did know it.

But he didn't want to.

And he wouldn't . . .

"Anne-"

. . . give up . . .

"No-"

. . . hoping.

"I know you want me-"

Trying.

Probably the last one to come to the conclusion that this song and scene can actually be interpreted as them dancing around each other for weeks, maybe months, never quite able to reconcile their love for one another, for her fear, her self-reservation.

And if they hadn't played it just right, Phillip's pursuit of her would have been stalkery, creepy. Dismissive of her preferences. Rich guy determined to get what he wanted at any cost.

Wrong.

But they did play it just right.

And however you may want to interpret what else it is, maybe is, it. Is. Perfect.

And gorgeous.

And heartbreaking.

And melting.

And everything else.

*sigh*

Anyway, thanks for reading, hopefully I didn't write it the wrong way.

Everyone appreciates feedback. Leave a review if you like.