The Unchosen Staged a Plot Twist

When the curtain had fallen and the actors were gone

For a long time,
I’ve been acting,
compelled
by different forms
of the same mental compulsions.

A longing to be understood
settled in the depths of my soul,
and buried itself
beneath the breath of chaos.

A burden
weighed on my chest.
A distorted truth
became a knot bound by destiny.

When everything started bottling up
and I felt like screaming,
yet I shoved everything within,
becoming a stranger
to my own voice.

Life became the streets
that held the same scene,
where the sun rarely showed up
and birds stopped humming.

Beginnings started to feel
like endings,
and I tried to decide what to keep
and what to let rot inside.

When feelings became a burden
and I stopped caring all at once.
The frames of success,
the love,
the meaning.
All of it was gone.

Then came the whisper,
pleading to be heard.
And old patterns started revisiting.
I indulged in self-blame,
wearing guilt like a second skin.

The act of the unchosen
remained untouched
by the understanding of oneself.

Today, I woke up with a man,
a wind that carried not a breeze
but the warmth of the sun itself,
turning a fleeting moment
into a cherished memory.

The outer world became a realisation,
and I returned to my perfectly imperfect being.

When the curtain had fallen
and the actors were gone,
what remained was not my performance
but my soul,
fragile and fractured,
yet still my own.

And for once,
the unchosen
staged a plot twist.

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