To not being able to express is deeply saddening. Present, yet stood motionless there at the edge of your throat waiting for the right time to emit. Biding. Heavy, it feels.
Hence, I find ways to let it out, in the form of another.
I did. Oh how it did wonders to me. To be able to express on a stage, magical. You talk, you laugh, you cry, you smile, you act, and people will always, always, always accept you.
Because ...
You're merely an actor.
You're not supposed to be you.
Do you know how good it feels
To not remember the burden you have
To literally forget all the problems you can't run from
To live a life of another
To feel what another feels
Fake or not, the feelings' real.
Talking from scripted lines. Moving from one point to another from trained gestures. Emitting expressions from given pretext.
You are to behave precisely as directed. People will have the perception towards you, intendedly. You're guided to be what you are. Like a textbook of life. However short the play might be.
The bell rang twice. An indicator I personally hate to let the high frequency sound hit my eardrums. End of play.
What's next?
Oh, right. Life.
Where there's no guidelines on how to be you.
And then there's people.
And i thought to myself,
"Oh, back to this."
