And you have a supporting role
in a sliver, at best.
Perhaps you’re the barista
who remembers the lonely usual,
or the cab driver
who hums someone from the brink.
No monologue.
No slow-motion flashback.
But you held the door,
and someone noticed.
You lit a cigarette,
and someone quit.
You weren’t the star.
You were the scene
that made the star believable.
And that’s enough.
It always was.
