You’re a broadway actress in a famous play and you call in sick..and your understudy takes it all. Voluntarily helps oneself to the displayed buffet of spotlight and fame - which was rightfully yours - and alters it to his/her own selfish glory, and basks in your embracing shadows.
It’s like being replaced without a trace. A bargained substitution. Like in a prosaic and undistinctive photograph. While everybody else is in the same place, cut out a part of it and glue a brand new piece to it. Out with the old, in with the new. Play pretend like nothing ever happened.
Pretend that the significance of a being is void. Pretend it’s all the same, despite revolutionizing the main cast. Like it didn’t even mean anything.
You’ve always been the dignitary amateur. Now you’re..just the congregation.
This is where I portray the many unfolding chapters of my life, in mute.