Everyone stares, all with their own expectations.
She slides her hand down the microphone as she runs through the memorized notes.
The fans see them as metaphors, but this was her life. No exaggeration.
What is told, is what has happened.
She tells them stories, which is all they hear, stories.
Unreal, fake, made up, imaginations-creativity at its finest.
They’re memories that are the part of our history that shouldn't be repeated.
But it must be told and felt and lived again, and again, and again, so we can truly understand why we can't let others burn, even though we know they will.
She holds back tears as the memories rip her heart to shreds all over again.
Night after night, she tries to warn them,
But they are too caught up in themselves to understand.
She knows they will break as well, everyone does.
We are just empty shells, trying to pull together small scraps of happiness.
So we can protect our children from the fire that will ultimately be their demise.
But that’s how the cycle repeats itself;
To find peace we must be able learn without living, feel without touch, care without empathy,
But that will just continue to carve away at our emptiness, until we aren’t human.
We want to protect our loved ones, but to be considered human we must show our scars to prove that we can try, and that we will fail.
Our imperfections only keep scraping away from the ignorance and joy of our childhood.
We can only hope to replace lost pieces of ourselves with wood, in areas that were once clay.
An area we must be gentle around to not burn longer than the break once felt.