I’ll sit front and center,
on a cold metal chair,
fog machine blowing in my face,
sound too loud,
lights too bright,
just to see you on stage.

I will choke back my tears,
and instead scream your name.
I won’t sink back in my chair,
I will stand and applaud,
even when I want to die,
because I know you’d do it for me.

I won’t complain about too-late rehearsals,
or copying my homework,
or staying with the cast and not me.
I’m not part of it all,
not even a techie,
so you can stop loving me for the season.

But I will never stop loving you.

I will bring you flowers every night,
stand by the cast door,
hug you tight,
and hold you as you cry
about it being the last show,
until you do it all over again.

I will support your dreams,
even when they are mine too,
even when I want to be on that stage,
so bad that it hurts to breathe
when I see it.
But it’s your spotlight,
so I will stand back,
and let you take it.

I will give you the rides
and the late night dinners.
I  will help you with lines,
and listen to you sing.
I will give you the flowers,
and bake you the cookies,
because I love you,
and when you are happy,
I will pretend to be.