Well played

I was one of the crowd.

He was on the stage.

The spotlight’s brightening his face.

His voice,

Upon entering my ears,

Weakened my knees and made me shiver.

His voice,

Upon reaching my skin,

Melted my soul and kept me still.

His voice,

When he recited every line,

When he spoke every word,

It was all so real.

His voice,

It flew around every corner of the dark room,

That is as dark as the things he did.

His voice,

Passed through every bright lights,

That are as bright as the rays that blinded me.

His voice,

It warmed every person in the cold and icy room,

That is as cold as the feelings he had for me.

His voice,

It ended up the unabridged long play,

That is as long as my hopes that never died.

His voice,

Signaled the drawing of the red curtains,

That are as red as the blood I bled for him.

When he made me believe he could be faithful,

When he made me believe we had a chance,

When he made me believe I was the only one,

Were all a part of his foolish act!

And soon, it ended.

He walked down the stairs.

And the moment he looked at me,

I wished we were only in a play.

I wished it was all a part of it.

But it was not.

When he hurt me to death,

It was all real.

When he said he never loved me,

It was not in the script.

When he walked down the stairs,

There were no applause.

When I cried a river,

There were no sound effects.

When our act ended,

There were no red curtains.

When I stood up in pain,

There were no spotlights.

And at the end,

At the end of his foolish act,

I had nothing to say,

But,

“Well-played”