silhouette

i loved you behind the silk screen of stagelights, letting the light colors bleach your skin into angelic hues. you were so beautiful singing Shakespeare to the masses; i thought you more a Cordelia, but underneath the sunglasses and icy rouge, Goneril shone through, wrinkled and aged.

you are hated; a batty old woman who pets her cats, not knowing the secret collaborations; they dream of slipping feet and broken hips.

falling you will be like sinking the titanic, inevitable; the buoyancy of skill is no match for leaden ego.

i like to think that people are more than the outline they traced on butcher paper, during those beautiful kindergarten days, when hope still blossomed in emerald bushes. but you are hollow.

or so i've seen. prove me wrong;
because i want to love you.