"When you're gone, everything I do reminds me of you."
If only the words are true to the one who wants them to be true. What a genuine, inborn actor, who orchestrated the entire setting and set the play in motion. What an intelligent scriptwriter, who drags the actress into believing the play has come to reality. And then, what a beautiful liar.
Liar, or not? There was never an explicit promise, so where does the liar emerge? But how do you account for the mutual, unspoken pacts agreed by both parties?
That is why, I'm sitting at the audience gallery, watching reality - MY reality - being played on stage. Maybe, maybe, I don't really want the actor-scriptwriter-turned-director to shout "CUT" at all. Maybe, maybe, I'm contented with being duped into fantasising the reality.
