A storm of doubts, fears, comparisons drench her and she stands out there absorbing it through her thin twenty year old skin.
“Wear a raincoat,” I yell back, “cover yourself!”
But my cries are silent for they can’t transcend time, she can’t hear me
She’s too far from all I can offer; too young to own the experience and use it as her shield
So–
I watch her crumble and quit…over and over again, never once seeing the value in working on her craft, making it her single focus. Instead she points her finger outward at her and him and them, they’re why she can’t be seen.
It’s painful to see her drown in her own doubts, but I cannot be heard. My voice is from tomorrow and her’s echoes in the present.
