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At the Opera

I never saw such glamor in all of my life. Perfect blond ringlets framing a face with such beauty that made me almost want to cry. Who was this woman, so fair and regal as she sat among us, hardly seeming to belong in a crowd of such ordinary people? I don’t know her name, but I know that I love her. When the music begins, I can’t bring myself to sing, as it would muddle the sound of her beautiful voice ringing out to no one in particular. She didn’t belong in the chorus. She was meant for the center of the stage and a single spotlight.

She haunts my thoughts, even as I leave. Her face is so vivid in my memory, bringing to me feelings of both joy and loss. Wondrous as it is, the sound of her sweet soprano will never again reach my ears.

I’m pulled out of my thoughts suddenly, by two woman passing me in the street.

“That woman was so terrible I wanted to rip out her vocal chords!”

I briefly wonder who they’re talking about. Then my mystery woman walks past. They erupt in hysterical laughter.

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