Coming home alone is a tricky thing when you do what we do.
We spend all day in close contact with one another, expressing emotions, cathartic artistry, touching, feeling, holding, all splattered across the blank canvas of our stage.
'Take it and enjoy! Learn!' we cry internally to our audience. You pray for connection, for them to receive. Relief, or so it should be to leave work having achieved your target.
But wait. once you've wiped away the make-up, peeled away this make-believe reality and find yourself on the dark, wet streets of London, you are alone. Your single footsteps penetrate the heavy night air.
The door shuts, the room is dark, the sheets are bare. You know it's ok. But still, still, so still.
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