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Who was that man on the stage? The one who sang, sweeter than any of the angels in heaven. The man who recited lines to script and song so masterfully, anyone could've sworn he had written it himself.
That man who danced gracefully along the stage, needing near no instruction at all. The dramatic swishing cape of his costume mirrored his movement, declaring this masked actor dancing across the stage a god among men in the art of grace.
This man who, when not acting, would good naturedly mock his own character for all the dreadful acts commited. One whole other, delightful man when the curtains were drawn and half mask of a phantom discarded. A whole new night is his eye, the color of the sky.
Who was this man? Hidden in the orchesta. Who played the strings of his violin sweetly enough to make any being, mortal, beast, or immortal somewhere above in the sky feel deep emotion in their very soul through his music.
The one who, though many times cynical and teasing, always at least had a 'thank you' when brought something. Sometimes that thanks was coupled with a charming smile and quite interesting conversation of how the composer of the orchestra's latest piece was a complete fool who shouldn't have been putting notes on a page in the first place. Yet somehow, despite the angry mutterings and cursing at sheet music, he had always found a way to wring every drop of emotion possible from the paper's "incorrect" notes.
That man who had a tongue of silver, making even the most boring of theater meetings interesting with a handful of quick quips. Or a question that more often than not inspired change. Changes that, when piled up had really brought the whole production into perfection.
Who was that man? Gruff, tough, and oh so very tall? Who didn't too much mind company hiding away with him as he made each and every act spring to life with lighting and props and sound. He who knew the working and location of every button, every single switch, even in the blindness of the dark. Who worked harder than anyone outside of that room would even know, perhaps harder than them all.
That man who had quite a peculiar sense of humor. Who could think up jokes and curses enough to make even an old weathered sailor ears turn pink. Vulgar creativity was his forte and he used it each and every single opportunity he saw. Underneath it all, below the loud and crude demeanor, was a slight contrast. His words grew softer, humor more playful than just the common vulgarity. Small talk became a much more common occurance, along with bright grins. Still gruff and strange this man was, but there was more than met the eye.
That man who commonly wore a wide, teasing grin. Self confidence practically radiated from him wherever he went. Some may have called his attitude cocky or overconfident. Possibly even narcissism, but they were oh so incredibly wrong. For he knew who he was, what his place was, and his value. And if knowing he was a person of value made him narcissistic, he didn't care.
Who were these men? All of them brought together by an act, a play, a bustling theater house constructed in the house of a sprawling city. All with different pasts, intrests, and personalities. Different roles to play not only in the act, but in this grand scheme of life. Who were they? *What* were they?
They were loved.