False Script

Instead of a finish line, we must all arrive at the happy medium of normalcy. Pretty girls must be self-deprecating, in order to resist offending anyone with their mere presence. Sensitive boys must espouse a kind of overconfidence so no one can call them pussies. In the end, we must maintain a fine balance in the collective decision to appear nonthreatening, without entirely diminishing our personal presence. We maintain this balance on a hairpin, keeping our fingers crossed that no one will look behind the curtain during intermission, that no one will see us memorizing our lines at night, alone in our apartments, that no one will lean against the set and realize that all of it is an empty shell made of plaster. And maybe it doesn't even matter, because alone, in our dreams, we are real.