That's what it feels like. A long sunset. Seductive dark blue tones eating up the warm red and orange. It gets abit colder. The streetlights and neon come on now, trying feebly to replace the glamour of the sun. Watching the night devouring it's prey tastily, I 'm lured into thinking that I'm not just a spectator. The last sunlight clings on to my cheek and I feel it's warm fingers losing grip. I stretch my hand out. But I can't touch any of it. Then it's gone.
That's what it all feels like. Being part of everything around me, watching everything collide and dance, almost predicting the motion of earthly bodies and feelings, but somehow not being able to touch and affect it. It's not like I'm trying hard to change anything yet. Something inside me is telling me that it's not my scene yet. I'm waiting to be cued in. Anxious to jump into the scene yet calm in the knowledge that the stage will be mine.
How can it not yet be time? I've been behind the curtains for some time now. Looking on at the stage, serving tea for the main acts, pretending to be small. I think I'm pretty good at pretending. Everyone around seems to believe it now. Thankfully, I'm not such a good pretender to convince myself. I'm not great. But not small either. Mediocre? Well, you can decide after my act.
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