I should be focusing on other things,
like my performance tonight.
I've never seen what lies before the curtains
of such an opera-esque stage.
But I must see the contraptions behind it.
As I weave through the crowds,
someone grabs a hold of my hand.
Instinctively, I try and shake off their grip.
The person is not letting go.
So I turn to know
who is eager to meet my acquaintance.
My irritation perished at the sight of milady.
She fixes the shoulder strap of her dress.
I must have been too forceful with the tug.
What spurred her intrusiveness?
She says, "When someone calls out to you,
you answer them. Is that clear?"
"Of course, of course.
Is there something you need from me?"
She ponders over the question.
"I want the secrets in your mind.
If you are who I believe you are."
"I believe you are mistaken, miss,"
I say.
My words caused her to frown.
"You'll have to prove it
with your performance."
"I don't understand."
"There's more to your elect tongue
than you know.
I wish I were you."
What is that supposed to mean?
Why would she want to be me?
I say to her,
"Have you been drinking?
Because you're making no sense."