And, Scene!
Elise felt like a loser.
Still here.
Still stuck.
Still replaying the same lines.
She thought she was better.
She thought she was stronger.
She thought she was her -
the chill girl,
the unshaken one.
But honestly, she’s not.
Never was.
Cut.
Change of city.
Paris, Two years.
Different streets,
same ghosts.
Back home now.
Parents’ house.
Walls too familiar.
Not soft, not safe.
But love lingers here,
awkward, imperfect.
It holds her,
barely.
Another take:
Targets.
Deadlines.
Crying at night.
Too many almosts.
Too many unfinished scenes.
Enter: Carter.
He looked at her,
like she was real.
Listened.
Saw her.
For a moment.
Then - casual.
Just casual.
Exit, Carter.
But she's still on stage,
waiting for a line that won’t come.
Smith -
a fantasy more than a man.
Sharp edges,
a storm he carried in his chest,
a body carved but breaking.
She knew she’d leave,
but she still dreams him alive
in every shadow.
Hunter -
a return,
a circle closing.
Destiny, she thought.
But the cracks were louder:
secrets, disrespect,
a love stretched thin
across time zones.
She chose herself.
That was her standing ovation.
But still -
the stage collapsed beneath her.
When she woke up,
her chest felt heavy,
like she’d wasted the one thing
she didn’t have:
time.
Now -
this script she doesn’t know how to finish.
Diplomat.
Dream.
Ambition.
Or nothing at all.
Some nights,
she believes.
Other nights,
she wants to tear the script in half.
Today she slept through the daylight.
But tonight she planned
the upcoming trip to Paris.
And it made her smile.
Just a spark;
streets alive,
crowds chaotic,
a future she could step into.
Maybe that’s all hope is.
Not a promise.
Not a guarantee.
Just the next scene.
The past - heavy.
The present - raw.
The future ?
still waiting in the wings.
And, Scene!