Staged

Day 6, Word: Velvet

I lay in my bed, in the middle, to take up the space where you were.
I stare out the window.

The comforter offers no comfort, and the pillow does not rest my head. 
The rain is knocking on the window. Is anybody home, it asks? 
And I answer no. I lie; I don’t need anyone. 
Truth is more like; I don’t need anyone to be alone. 
This is how we go on, forever, repeating, endless. 
Life is a series of loves; love is a series of lies. 
And I’ve been lying all along. 
 
Truth is, love is more like a stage name. 
An actor with nothing underneath the mask. 
Who are you? But you can’t answer. 
Who were we before? But we don’t know. 
Who we are when we are in love is glorified.
Act one is always the most beautiful. 
The velvet curtain opens up, and enter stage right;
the love of your life. 
The spot light shines down, and there’s a lover’s dance, poetic words.
I have never felt this way before. 
No mind has known me better, no arms have held me harder.
But if I’m honest, the sentiment is the same,
it’s just the pair of hands changed.

Act two isn’t the obstacle either,
it’s the forgetting about Act One. 
The masks start to fall off, we lose our heads. 
Who are you? But we can’t answer. 
Who were we? But we don’t know.
Because who we were, has fallen away with time with the little accidents that broke us apart. 
It wasn’t by a deliberate smasher, but it also wasn’t just the wind. 
We can’t go on pretending, we can’t go on acting anymore. 
We are ragged, and we are real. 
We have to acknowledge it; all these things we didn’t mean to break, but which broke anyway.
 
Act three is the real tradegy. 
In this act, only one dies. And I will die from love, 
because I loved you. 
I am left with all the things we said, but shouldn’t have;
All the things we didn’t but could have.
Everything was staged, end scene, drop the curtain. 
Deep velvet, now crushed.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.