In a turn of the channel and the blink of an eye I first saw the Actor Fella spin his web around a character so deep and complex I found myself consumed with the desire to know what life this construct was passionately trying to live.

As time passed, I fell into enchantment, watching the actor become something real before my eyes; becoming characters who loved and hated; characters who raged against the universe and against their own frailties.

Some characters lived long enough to give voice to a life lived in both the body of the actor and my own mind's eye. Dialogue that screamed of importance in the shortest of lines spoken in truth. Passion and talent fused in one sweeping gesture, and in a moment of inspiration the actor spoke for all who could hear the hunger of one man speaking the truth of many men.

Some characters were butchered and laid to waste, and my soul ached for a life that should have sang out loud of bittersweet loss and an aching to be heard. What poetry is remembered if the actor is silenced too soon? What becomes of the woman who waits to hear the thoughts of one man speaking for those who are butchered and cast aside like so much garbage?

What becomes of a creation that sings only half a song, speaks only half his heart, and then is banished to oblivion? What becomes of the hearts and souls who wait patiently to sing along? Who sings the song and hums the tune hauntingly left behind in untold stories of men with tall tales to tell? Where does passion go to rest when it is denied its expression? Can it ever rest peacefully?

Perhaps it creeps into a heart like mine, and lives for eternity in the bright light of promises that are never broken. Where actors are free to breathe life into the passion of a writer's imagination. Perhaps it dances in a dream late at night, writhing and undulating in an unrestrained lust to be heard.

Perhaps it is enough just to be remembered.

By Caitriona