On remenesence

on the strings of heart ......................

They sang their hearts out, their sorrowful voices filling the hearts of their audience. They were praised for being able to potray the inner sorrows of a character, yet how much of the sorrow is theirs, and how much of it was just an act? They put on a mask on stage, a persona of their reality when truly, they were the ones that craved love the most. They sang of poems and songs, immersing themselves in the life of a character they could only wish for, but never get. Such was the life of an artist back then, an illuminating figure that was trapped by the very stage they performed on. They served only to light up others, ending with themselves burning in the ashes. In the morning they flourished on stage, at night they weeped bitterly in their hearts as they lived their lives serving others. Their fragile hearts, so easily warmed by a gentle smile of another or the warm touch of a hand, could be just as easily shattered by the same person who had never truly regarded them as a person. They were a tool, just an instrument to be flaunt. That was how a single gesture from them could sway the hearts of many on stage, how a single tear could break the hearts of many. People praised them for their acting, but from the start, it was never an act for them. It was their true stories, written down in tragedy and much sorrow.