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and so here I stand. the final girl, the lone survivor. my wife, my enemy, my friends, dead in the ashes. here I stand, wings broken after sitting through hell, smoke in my lungs and glass in my hands.
was it worth it? did you get what you wanted? was I just collateral damage in your love story, something to be discarded for someone new, something better? are you happy with them? was my love not good enough for you?
how do I continue? how can I move on, now that my world is ashes, ashes, dust, dust? did my sanity die with you? was it ever alive to begin with?
and what of the audience? for you were always an actor, always a playwright. were they amused? shocked? joyful? do they feel changed, indifferent? are they proud of what you, we, did for them? do they even care, our story just another thing to ignore, to filter, to block out?
do you even know what happened in the past week? would you care if I told you? would you know what I mean if I said I am changed by tonight?
my trust, destroyed. my love, dead.
here I stand. burned, bruised and battered, but standing. standing in the wreck of the narrative. one question remains.
why didn’t you help?