sometimes, there is quiet. i don’t always understand but i respect it, the same way i would respect your space if you were learning a new song and needed time to focus. we are riding the subway in silence and i let myself go to the place i need to be in tomorrow at 11am for an audition.
she’s a crazy person, this woman i’m presenting to the world tomorrow, and i don’t want to sink too deep while you’re here watching me. we’re riding the train, passing station after station and i’m holding back tears and wondering why you won’t touch me, and i’m putting entirely too much thought into the matter and i’m relating with this woman, this human at the end of her rope.
you are the light, my light, my beacon at the end of the road. without you, i am a catalogue of monologues and discarded scripts, a glass of cabernet without anyone to claim it, a song that hasn’t yet found its legs.
without you, i am the girl at the end of the bar, the woman in the red dress, the opposite side of the road.
tomorrow, i will play a crazy person and, without you, i understand how she feels. without you, i have no compass, no glass half full, no handhold on this journey upward into the night.
i could move forward without you but i’d rather not. i’d rather watch you from afar and let you simmer, let you yell and scream and jump up and down if you must.
i’ll be here through it all, waiting until you look up, cross the tracks, and come back to me.