Silence echoes; the heavy atmosphere hums persistently, no movement or sounds to disturb the stillness.
“Can you hear me?”
Questions cast out into a sea of endless answers, an empty net returned.
“Can you see me?”
Does your mind’s eye hold my image? Is it sharp, clear, or does it blur around the edges, a fraying memory receding in the mists of time?
Am I escorted to the farthest corner of your mind, taking my seat compliantly, silently; relegated to the bleachers, a bit part actor in your play, awaiting one last curtain call that will never come?
Or am I forcibly removed, ejected to be swiftly replaced by an actor more suited to the role’s demands, adding high definition cinematic sheen to black and white days?
“What did you want from me?”
A cliffhanger unresolved, tension built but with no release penned into the script.
Another stage awaits. Unadorned. A story waiting to be written, the preface in draft. Characters yet to emerge, actors yet to be cast.
Plot-lines that will be revealed in time, a skilled director’s deft touch guiding the story’s telling.
Treading the boards of my life.
Somebody That I Used To Know – Elliott Smith