Cowardice is often a sister of repression. Swallowed sentences and full hearts—what when tension is stretched like tightropes and the actors KNOW what they’re doing is affecting you; still they slink with phrases such as “do you need me to come with you to the store?” Or “it’s a hot one today, isn’t it?” When you have to remind yourself to breathe deeply, when it would have otherwise been unconscious and autonomic. Faces like these deserve a slap, and frames, a shake. Have you ever known a breaking point in the midst of an armistice? Just when you thought the white flag of peace waved and doves were freed.
From where I’m standing, it screams of an ambush and loved ones stray into strangers. Hmm, pinpointing the exact moment of strain would be as daunting as counting every strawberry seed on the plant.
People paint and portray themselves as the Las Meninas, 1656 by Diego Velazquez but secretly they are more like seahags.
Apathy, really I can’t do nothing but giggle, literally it’s that sitcom.
P.s. Mind you, this stream of thought is highly out-of-character for me, however, I feel better.