The 11th Hour

I am or was a typecast actor, living the lives of everyone before me;

A well worn path but the trees that bordered me let those occasional glimpses of something different and it looked;

Magenta and glittering, rays of sunlight and a faint echo of laughter. I could hear the ocean and suddenly;

The mountain before me looked so much bigger.

I am a beat in a script. The pause and the wait and you decided to discard me.

You didn’t listen either.

You left me for dead.

I wish the complexity of my heart was easy to understand, easy to accept and easy to communicate but I am stuck here this small child too afraid to go to bed and this adult shell is finally starting to break and crack and writhe and you wanted far too much like a cracked spine in a book you didn’t want to read after the first chapter.

Sorry.

(Stop saying sorry)

Ok.