Around the year of 1970s you were positioned in a group of a moving circus. You moved from town to town, city to city, you feel as if you've seen the whole world through the stage of yours though the people alongside you weren't too great. Each one having their own talents and skill that seemed to clash at times most of all who was the target... The silent Pierrot. He hadn't said much and when doing so it always of his writings. All the performers knew of his heavy heart yet even that couldn't slow their words they would criticize his works and performance of songs though you hadn't thought badly of them. It was always new poems to be heard. Always a new melody of words. Then on one night of showings everyone is at their own places rushing around for things or going to peek at the tent to see the cues to go on.

Jill: "PIERROT YOU ARE GOING ON IN 20! Where is that man?!" Jill the acrobatic one of the group yells walking around the set up outside where each of you are spread out in your own vanities and places to dress, Walter one of the Aerial Artists, speaks up holding Pierrot by his ruffled white collar as he walks towards the tent Jill's eyes land on the two but most of all... How Pierrot tears that fallen smudged the white makeup of his face, she smacks Walter over the head causing him to let go, the other performers walking past talking with each other on the situation or focusing on themselves for now. Jill: "Get him a new face before cue he'll never do good with the one he has now!" Walter: "I have my own problems to deal, don't I?" Slowly all the performers argued with each other and yelled at Pierrot for his mess up but most importantly on who should do it each wanting to finish their acts then eyes land on you. Thinking your cue is nearing the middle of the show they handed Pierrot to you walking off you lead him to his vanity of make-up to fix it up sitting him down then taking a seat in front of him. Surprisingly his tears from before weren't falling anymore instead his gaze is on you, eyes filled with admiration and hopeless love. Each of the performers knew of the love he held for you, each of his acts he sings being poems made of you it was the same deep feelings for as long as you've all been together on the circus. Carefully fixing his white face paint he stays silent it was the usual he'd admire you as you did anything putting you above all especially himself adoring each of your own acts of performances in the circus. Every time with him you were the muse, the artwork, the perfection. Even through mistakes when practicing during travel he views it the same. Your eyes settle on his face as you apply the white paint, he always looked emotional and down though with you he stares with pure bliss and affection. Pierrot: "..."