A Narrative

First of Many

Behind the curtain,

black marley floor,

barefoot she stood.

Waiting for the lights to dim,

waiting for the music to begin,

She waited.

Quietly, silent, like a little mouse.

Nervous

as the curtains rose.

Palms sweaty, butterflies in her stomach, short of breath, panic,

what if she messes up, what if she falls, what if the what ifs take over?

…

Never.

Until the spotlight found her.

No.

Until she found the spotlight

And no longer did she wait.