(note to self: the censored, second version)

Like a dam bursting, the drapery falls from the theatre of delusion. Raw and exposed I look onto the scene so long hidden, perplexed at the complexity of the nothingness before me. 

The fabric of the illusion-cloth never known, enlightenment denied. In the face of brutal honesty, lingering: Which was the bigger lie? Your behaviour? My interpretation? Your possible self-deception? As the curtain in slow motion hit the floor, a fourth possibility entered my mind: is the biggest lie of all, the one I told you? It is the easiest truth and the whose consequence I both fear and relish the most.

A feel possesses my heart, but for the first time in very long, strangely, sorrow is not its ruler. Something else has taken command: Be it raging disappointment, green-eyed disgust, despairing confusion, or an exit sign alit. Restlessness is my bedfellow, discomfort my seat, breathing my only apatite, surrender my latest delight, and self-betrayal my biggest sin. On occasion happiness shows its treacherous face, followed by a box to the ear called “reality check”.

Still standing, watching the empty stage, puzzled, pushing feelings, fear, through the pores of clogged skin, it is impossible to say what I had expected. Those thoughts feel alien to me now. It is like all the lines of an unknown play has been erased. All that remains is an oddly angled spotlight on an all too empty stage. Perhaps the story has yet to be told, shaped into a mocking satire, a comedy to ridicule or more likely, a tragedy. After all, if this ever was anything more than nothing and less than everything, it was a muse.

Although maybe, the falling of the drapery was the curtain call of our performance. The closure of a play acted out on the opposite side of the veil. Actors to an empty audience, with no-one to scream for an encore.