The curtain fell
The mute audience leaves the theatre
The show is over.
I am left alone to meditate over what happened during the course of the play.
What did I do? What did I say? Who was I on that particular day.
I need to regain my will to live after I peeled my soul to strangers.
I am naked, I feel naked.
Stripped from any conscious thought .
Did I play a part or was I a mere reflection of what I pretended to be?
I am not what I am supposed to be.
I fell nothing because I can identify those feelings.
I can't relate to other people's thoughts because I am not on their heads.
I made educated guesses.
I strive to connect the dots.
I fail miserably.
The feeling of inadequacy makes me stand up. I feel what sems to be anger, pain, formidable adversaries. I wage war against them and on the course of an hour I dwell the darkest spot on the stage, lit only by my reluctance to accept one truth. I have lost.
Lost myself one too many times, playing different characters, saying lines that I wouldn't dare uttering. I fail. Pretending to be what I thought others wanted me to be.
I cried but there were no tears left to flood my visage. I know they taste salty but it is only by memory I recollect that fact. I fake tears instead. I wish I cared.
War takes no prisoners. No important questions left to ask. The trail on blood tainted my soul permanently. Wipe it out is useless. The constant reminder of what once was and now is lost.
I hear a roar in the distance. They are here again. To feed on my essence to drink of my chalice. I must put myself back together, pick up the pieces and assemble them in a way that I could do something useful with it. I shall give them what they want and then I'll die again just to be born again and die again and again and again, in this everlasting cycle.
Once I am center-stage I don't know who I am anymore. Pretending is easier than living. Dying is a mere part on a much elaborate play, one I must master in order to live.