CURTAIN CALL

I don't trust my feelings.

Sometimes I question if what I am feeling is all for show.
Blame it on me for being a romantic. Blame it on me for loving theater.

I look at each chapter of life -from the quarrels to the make up- as one big narrative that needs the perfect lines. 

I still do.

Why waste the perfect pause when the moment calls for it?
Why not blow the perfect kiss if the timing is right?

I found you to be my favorite actress.

And I molded us as the perfect loveteam that we can sell to the world, worthy of the frenzy and curiousity.
We didn't mind the attention, to be honest.

We even have an interesting backstory that may pass as a classic.
You have your own tale you want to be highlighted, 
but oh, the reel wasn't enough.
My god, I didn't even notice what you were reciting at times.

It must have been a monologue for a quite a while. 

We peeled our skin little by little to reveal us as fragile beings;
and realized that these roles

are concepts we enjoyed playing.

It wasn't that bad; don't get me wrong. 

Our madness can't be captured wholly on a peephole, but it was pretty most of the time. 

We were proud of that. 

Friends and family of yours caught a glimpse and pass judgment
as cruel as those self-proclaimed experts in Rotten Tomatoes. Spectators will settle on whatever is headlines-worthy in our world, you see. 

Who can blame them?
I just know we were happy. Contented.

Then again

I never trusted my feelings.

Then last night, I cried loudly.
Broke down harder that usual. 

Lost myself

On the edge of sanity
Without an audience for my performance.

Just this montage on my head for lost opportunities
of things left unsaid
and promises left undone.

Only now did I feel that I am real.

that WE are real.

were