Edema Rue

To the theatre:

I see you standing on that stage. I see you smile, see you laugh. I watch your hands shake, hear your voice crack, and I commend you. I feel the silence every time you pause, feel it deep in my soul. I feed on the act you present to the world, and as you speak I fall in love. 

Not with you, of course. To love a mortal is to condemn yourself to unending heartbreak. But with your art. With your performances. With the chains that rattle every time you move. With the smile that drops off your face and the tension in the air as no one dares to breathe for fear of what you will say next.

I fall in love with your swords, with your knives, with your bizarre eyeliner and your swirling skirts, with your corsets and your trousers, with your posture and your voice. I fall in love with the control you have over the room; all eyes on you, every breath taken at your leisure. I fall in love with the way my heart pounds at every word you speak, with the chills I cannot stop. 

I fell in love with the idea of loving you. I fell in love with the idea of giving you my all. But an idea can only get me so far. And so I wonder…do I love you? Or do I only want to love you? 

I believe it is the former. 

I want to believe it is the former.

Only,

I wonder.

If I really loved you, 

Why does watching you always make me want to cry?

Why does all my contact with you leave me feeling lacking?

But no, no, it won’t be this way forever.

One day, I’ll find you. Really find you. One day, I won’t live my life in halves.

And so I’ll find you, o lover.

Wait for me.

- Rue