Juliet

Sometimes I feel like I can't become Juliet. I don't know how to genuinely feel like her or know what she's thinking when she does the things she does. She is elusive to me. She is today, she is tomorrow. She is the faintest scent of a cactus flower, the flitting shadow of an elf owl. We do not know what to make of her. In our minds we try to pin her to a corkboard like a butterfly, but the pin merely goes through and away she flies. How can I be this girl when I don't even know who I am? The words don't go with the painted picture and my heart cannot be what it is not. According to my director I am astensible. And he's right, but I don't know how I can change it. And it scares me. A mountain I can't climb. Juliet is the wind but it's all words and I can't just be. Am I afraid? Afraid to make a fool of myself or put myself out there? I suppose. I never expected this unexpected. I feel like I'm trying as hard as I can and it just isn't working. But I know I'm not trying as hard as I can because I never try as hard as I can with anything. And whether it be luck or brains or being in God's favor, I feel like I can do almost anything without much effort. Call it a blessing; sometimes it's a curse. For when challenged with the practically impossible I don't know how to overcome. She eludes me. Although I've felt love, I've never felt impossible, improbable, or star-crossed love like Juliet. I can't seem to portray her innocence, her oppression, her grief, or her passion. Juliet is the sun, and I am but a moonbeam trying to take the cake. Too early seen unknown, and known too late. Oh Churl.