Temple

It’s quite late.

I wouldn’t believe it.

Hear my concern. I say.

Wouldn’t I owe it to you, myself and everyone surround to make stage. Is it that I do not like it on display. That I am uncomfortable with the way or is it that it is not for me this that I have so convinced myself that I can be. Am I merely pretending or trying to become one I am not? For the first time in my life. I met somebody I love, romantically I mean. I can love. Want to love. Somebody I wouldn’t have even dared to dream of. I remember the moment, the realization, the way it felt so untrue how such a miracle had found me at last right at my worst, my best. My dream, everything and none of it.

Every chance I get I dive into what I am not, because of this left within me. This to be staged. I wonder if it is true, my pursuit of the craft. I mean to say. Wouldn’t I owe it to you and to me? To give it all I’ve got if I deemed it worthy at one point even more so than seeing your face?

I breathe deep and I see it had been mostly all in my mind. It works. I feel united, I can play. I would not do it over and over again because I feel it is silly. I for one am sensitive and I have not forgiven the memory. The memory of me, adapting to a role and playing it as if it were me. I cannot forgive how utterly horrifying it had made me feel to experience happenings I had yet to live.

I have many stories and many of them I cannot entirely see whether I am to tell, write or sing. I can act it out and play it on stage but doesn’t that make me a sacrificial sake. I say I can but could I really? I mean, would I? I wonder if I can. Make a change and hurry back to my cage without tasting this path I feel or believe I have yet to chase, embark on I shall with everything I have got. The blood and the sweat and all of that I dared to waste. Show everyone my face and how I can contort it. When I want to be the one with the story to tell. Can I work on it in the same way? I want to be on stage but the story and how it presents matters most to me. Should I then cast this dream away?

Do you see how I dare not for I could have seen your face. Yes you. I don’t know you quite so well. I remember your memory. How it makes me feel. I am hooked on it although it is not such a wide space. My special one had always been my craft, my stage.

It feels almost as if I can’t have it all. For when I am on stage I am the lover of all. If I write though, and craft a way… It is me, truly as I am and can be. There to reach my hand towards…

I have to try, with all I have but climbing towards the top what is lost cannot be lost twice. You are out of sight and I must but understand if it is truly what I want what I have been after all along.

I miss you. Can you feel the space?

How many of you are awake?

It’s quite early in some place.