Most of Act 1 for Emarosa is done.
Plan to start revisions for Act 2 in July.
Unrelated: if for some reason you’re unfamiliar with Florence + the Machine, strongly recommend you become familiar.
Life may be just a bit better because of it.
Little bit of goodness.
To you, whom were never me nor mine, and yet…
As long as I’ve known you (if I’ve ever known you), you’ve sought something.
Never quite sure of yourself, yet never so unsure you’d listen to anyone else.
You would fancy yourself a mystery if you fancied yourself at all.
It’s no wonder you hate mirrors with what you tuck away in the back of your mind.
I’ve wanted so many things for you because I never knew what you wanted.
If there could be just one thing that would make it alright, you would have it.
And just like you, with the answers to every problem gift-wrapped upon your doorstep, you’d turn away.
You wouldn’t even know why. Not really.
You almost died once. Twice. Actually I’ve lost count.
Still, you take the future for granted as though it’s something your teacher made-up in kindergarten.
I think you were more skeptical then, before the world acquainted you to madness.
Even so, you shelter a tender heart that continues to beat with somber reluctance.
It’s impossible to say what I wanted to say.
Or rather honestly, I just wouldn’t know how.
You have a way of misunderstanding the simple things while laying complications bare.
You’re a carnival trapped in a shoe box.
So to you, whom were never me nor mine, and yet…
There’s nothing more to be done except to hope.
Hope you learn to dance.
Hope your songs roar with such elegance they rouse dreamers into lovers.
Hope the things you turn away from clutch tight with faithful arms and never let you go.
More than what you would ever believe, I hope you find a warm, caring place to rest your head beside another, and wonder just how this moment could happen to you as you nestle your face deep down, eyes weary, letting a gentle hum carry you off to sleep.