I am sure with time,
when all of the stagefright
is perfectly channeled into my role,
(perhaps i will only feel it when i become him)
then it will become easier.
For now, I am sorting and catagorising,
and reorganising
and reorganising
and I can only speak when it is all in order.
My mind wanders to the manufactured closeness,
the fictional familial bond, replacing the feeling of speaking with a stranger,
not just the person themselves,
but the role they embody.
I am taken back to The Great Architect,
how he towered over me,
the bond of a party,
the shared table,
the distance,
the sunset bathing you in a blue orange glow.
I know enough about myself now to know that these butterflies are merely the result of method acting,
but my stomach twists when i think about how I percieve the word, Brother.
I am taken back to under the blanket,
in a car, or a tent, or a house,
she was always “Lisa”
and I was always “Jack”
they were siblings.
it is worth mentioning,
that “Lisa” was also the name of her mother.
I had forgotten this aspect of it, until I found myself embodying my role, and my brother told me to stand near him.
It feels, embarrassingly, like safety.
It feels, worse, erotic.
With time I know it will fade,
but tomorrow is not time enough,
I feel uneasy in my chest,
and a closeness in my throat.