please tell me we'll get there. that everything will work out. that the backdrop will be made, that the setting will be elegant. that the lines will come. the honesty, live. please tell me i am not waiting in vain. that i'm not a fool for trusting. again. i am done with high and dry. i want to be juicy and ripe. pick me from the tree and savor the dusty patina of summer sunshine still clinging to my skin. please.
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in two weeks we'll be on the other side of opening night's show. how did we get this far? how will we get the rest of the way there? put one foot in front of the other, floss, drink water, and hope and pray and sleep. try to remember that i am stronger than i have ever given myself credit for. i don't need you. i don't need anything. i am here, restless at 2am, listening to how it ends to remind myself this is just a crisis of breathing. calmly, now. in and out. expand. contract. the bellows of my diaphragm. the kind of breathing that gives me more than just oxygen. that's it. simple. sweet. this is how it ends. this is how it begins.
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