It was believable, the act you put on. The way you belted your lines at the right moment and used your charm and wit. Yeah, it was good. Not even a Broadway musical could top it. The acting was tremendous. I could almost taste the emotion pouring from your expression. Although crowds filled the theater to watch you perform, only I understood the plot of the story. I was one – one person out of thousands – who grasped the moral. What a show. Five stars. Bravo.

Nobody knew it was you. Your face was hidden behind a majestic mask, drinking in the glory that was rightfully yours. The disguise you wore – the deep mauve suit, the sleek dance shoes, the mask – it didn’t protect your identity. My eyes were not as numb as you would have wished.

The crowd applauded as you danced about on stage. I’m positive you didn’t realize just how you had affected us all. To them, the people who just wanted some drama, you were a big thing. They didn’t understand what you were doing. None of them could see the reflection of adoration in your eyes, which were framed by the eyeholes of your thick mask. Nobody except me could hear the excitement behind the scripted words you crooned. When you leaned over, cross-legged and quite nonchalantly, not a single person but me knew what was running through your mind.

You were in love. Or so I thought.

At the end of the show, everyone stood and applauded for you. You were fantastic, mind-blowing, incredible. I, too, clapped for your performance. After all, your acting was marvelous. You had me in your hands. I was hypnotized with belief ….

Then I remembered that it was only acting. You didn’t mean a word you said. The whole thing – from scene one to the closing number – was all a lie, a mimic of love. And you had me swooning head over heels.

I thought that you actually meant what you said. I was convinced that your eyes glowed for me, but I guess it could have been nothing more than a reflection of the spotlight trained on you. Your purple suit, sir, was not as handsome as it could have been if you actually loved me back. And your glossy shoes could have been glossier if the feeling was mutual.

See this smile on my face? Something’s wrong with it tonight. You got to me. So I must say, “Bravo. You did good.”