I dreamt of a friend looking for someone to love. Someone to stay. Willing to play. A part in the stories we’re told as kids. Forever.

Auditioning were me and a few other fools. I knew my lines. They were tools. How exactly were they gonna win the role if they weren’t willing to roll over and pretend the best they could to be the person they were required to be?

The audition was a breeze. I charmed her and joked around with the ease that comes from knowing someone’s favourite trees. I was sure I had the part until I heard I didn’t.

It was one of them. The people without the right answers. Without the grace of a dozen dancers spinning stories from their waists, ankles, necks, and knees.

I didn’t ask why. I knew why.

I always know. The right answers are always here, at the speed of thought, but always too late. Always until all efforts are for nought. She wasn’t looking for a player, she was looking a person. Someone who wouldn’t switch off like a light after the fun.

This is what I live with.

The fears I dream.

The dark behind the sun.

How can I be a person, if I don’t know what it’s like to be one?

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