Death.

Like everyone else in the goddamn world, I am dying.
I am also a hypochondriac, a narcissist and a performer, but I suppose that comes with the territory.
When I stand in the spotlight alone, I am strong. I am vulnerable. I am invincible. I am mortal.
Then the lights dim and I return to my dark sanctuary in the wings.
I am not afraid of death.
The dark naturally comes after the light, just like on opening night or any night.
An afterlife seems like a nice idea, but I more believe in reincarnation, because that is all I have ever experienced.
One month, I’m a maid, the next I’m a teenage assassin, then an animal, then a tree.
Everyone says that theatre models life, because emotions are so readily available and one has to be so susceptible to any and all outside stimuli.
But really it models death.
And that’s okay too.