DARCIE ANTHOLOGY: YOU WILL NEVER FIND ME ON THE SAME STAGE

You Will Never Find Me on the Same Stage by: Janna Real DeLeye

It looks like I will not be on the same stage anymore, performing and searching for the eyes to call someone home.

Because seven years ago, I saw the man in my dreams, and that was from the past, and the future is uncertain.

I swore I would marry the love of my life, and that would be him.

But I turned 21, and the chapter remained untold, and I was still in pain. 

I have been into places—the so-called unfamiliar—but I was still yearning for the same eyes I once looked forward to meeting. 

It was a magical moment that I will never forget, and I thought we were going to make it through.

But I was turning pages, and he met someone anew,

While I wished until now that it would turn out untrue.

In the depths of my thoughts, I once prayed and begged that I would forget the existence of once feeling in love.

Because now that I have known it and familiarized it, I looked for the traces of the fibers, and it was never enough.

I swear it will always end in dust from the people who will try to know me. 

Because I always looked for the past, trying to dodge the familiar feeling.

I wanted to publish a new story with a new protagonist in it,

But my pen remains, and the words evaporate while the ink squirts—

And nothing hurts more than a flirt that ends up in the dirt.

Whether it was meant to be a misfortune or a boon,

Or a scourge upon me, I still ended up being hurt.

And when the curtain closed, I ran.

And ended up in the desert.

I don’t want to even be paired with someone and that's the truth others keep on denying, and who cares if I will end up being alone in the big city?

I am doing well and will always be, while the page that I wanted to know deeper may be fading and slowly sounding healing.

There was a moment where I longed for it so much that it had to be him or no one.

But the future was settled, and I ended up being alone and done.

I may become the subject of someone’s story of what went wrong with the life I was supposed to have.

But the truth is, I don’t even fathom whether I was really the problem of this stage or if I was caged.

Because they paired me up with John, Evan, and Elias in different scenes, but I always fell short. 

And it is always the eyes of Micah that I have always dreamt of having.

A lot have wondered about my existence, because around my age I am supposed to be trying at least.

But I was here in the alleyway, waiting for my turn, but I never felt an option or a choice.

Love won’t seem to last on me because even I was struggling to patch up the wounds and the walls I created.

I wanted to try it at least, but felt like stopping midway, and that was my release.

I have wondered about it too—meeting new people and faces, and falling in love.

But I felt like an outcast, and it was too shallow for me and has never been deep.

They say it takes time, but the longer I wait, the more I sleep.

And in the shadow, I weep, and I drown the ship.

Oh, lovely young lady, so innocent and naïve! — That’s what they labeled me.

But I wasn’t the pure and pristine person they thought I would be.

I know nicotine and arsenic could kill a lover.

Instead of divorcing and signing the paper, one chose violence and poisoned the other.

Yes, I have always been in the dark and wondered about it too, but my mind grew bold, and everything became an eyesore. 

People screamed my name in the crowd—the nightmare I had always feared.

I don’t want people to know about my existence; I would rather be dead, staying unseen.

Instead of pleading for understanding from those people I once knew. 

I am familiar with these stages, and I am not new to this.

So when someone smirks at me, I just shrug it off.

Because the eyes that I really wanted were someone I knew and not someone I met.

And it has always been him, and I never met someone who could pull off the familiar beat I once knew. 

I might have been so innocent in the eyes of romance,

But these eyes have witnessed the worst of scenes, and love was the last to run too.

But the smile has always been pure—the sincere heart they mistook.

But I painted my walls red and tracked my footsteps while choosing to escape when no one else was looking.

It looks like I will not be on the same stage anymore, and if love finds me, may it find me.

These broken bones and haunted thoughts may never be second-guessed.

And the footsteps I once ran to may not be about hiding but meeting someone anew.

And if I flipped the book, it was a new love story and never a blue.