Sitting on the carpet of my square room, my mind raises the curtain.

I take a seat in the middle of a vacant theater. Encompassed by red leather, my mind previews.

Flashing before me, large and vast is Today.

Exaggerated, relayed, and overanalyzed, my actions take turns finding their place. I imagine jumping balls of memory impatiently awaiting their turn to join the ohter "Should-Haves."

Suddenly, the film shows the sequel, Tomorrow. 

Relief washes over me, hope is here, success is near. Glorified are those steps toward the light, just until they are not. In fact, I am so goddamn gullible to believe there was an actual light - it's all been a lie, a trick, a mean prank. 

I felt the same disappointment and embarrassment as when I was five yers old, licking my lips, tantalized at the sight of delectable gourmet desserts. I was a fool to believe the glistening custard of the creme brulee was that shiny, or the drops of raspberry sauce were perfectly dotted around the chocolate souflee. 

The movie has ended. I did not shed a tear. There was no applause. I was alone. And I continue to be the lone, harsh critic of the movie starring Myself. 

Slam - but it was only Me.