My favorite character

Whenever I watch a movie

I always want to be like my favorite character...

I don't know if I want to be

or if I just hate the version of me,

......wondering if this is admiration or self-rejection.

One might be ***.

Or brilliantly intelligent.

Or simply untouched by what the world thinks.

Passionate.

Loving.

Lost.

Nonchalant.

Even perfect— and somehow, even their flaws look beautiful.

And as the credits roll, I hope to have embodied the energy of that person

acting like them... and maybe hoping that I see things differently......

And maybe.....just maybe....

it leaves me with more than I could ever hold onto—

Hope?

I don't know.

And even if I don't get an end beyond what it shows,

I get to relive versions of what I could withhold.

But it ends......and my world seems to end with it....

And as the moment passes away and days go by...

I forget about the versions and completely face reality instead of my somewhat practiced illusion...the spell breaks

And somehow even if I don't seem to remember

I believe that each movie takes or adds a piece of me that I knew or might not know as it ends,

and I realize...... that in that moment I'm being sculpted without consent.

I don't know if I'm scared of my reality

'cuz it feels so easy to live in their scripted world while mine is not.....

And even tho they end up not being perfect at the end..

At least there's always this happy ending and I never get to see beyond that,

But... I get stuck in mine

like this loop I can't quite figure out if I'll ever see the end—

no credits, no closure, just more.

I don't get to predict what I want.

I guess maybe that's why I run from it

It gets really quiet...

and I have to either tend to the aching feeling or flee and seek another day—

And somehow I seem to not remember what it felt like to actually be... alive.

Without the fear of my end or my past I hold trying to mend.....

I carry both death and history—

or the undeniable ache of a future I don't get before I could hold—

I get scared every day

trying to look for the door to the called light most people seem to find... cuz somehow everyone else found the exit, why can't I?

But I can't see it and it changes every day—

the door moves, or I do, I can't tell.

Unfortunately, there is no end to this poem

'cuz I don't have one right now—

And deep down I hope I find it one day

before the doors shut forever

and the light never shines down on me