Outside the Script

Everyone gets those moments, 

eyes meeting across a room, 

and suddenly they’re the only two people in it. 

I get the laugh, 

the “you’re so easy to talk to,” 

like I’m everyone’s break 

from the real thing.

I keep the camera rolling 

just in case someone looks my way. 

Smile timed to their joke, 

shoulders squared like I’m in on it, 

but I’m outside the script, 

waiting for my cue 

to be helpful. 

To be funny. 

To not be too much.

I’m the space filler. 

The background blur. 

The one always there, but never in. 

They say I’m the glue, 

but never treat me like what’s keeping them held. 

The afterthought in every plot. 

They turn the page, 

I hold the spine together.

And yeah, I’ve learned the rules: 

Can’t be too quiet, they’ll forget me. 

Can’t be too loud, they’ll regret me. 

Can’t be boring, 

can’t steal the light, 

because I’m not the one

they come to watch.

So I stay in frame, 

smiling, nodding, holding coats, 

pretending I never wanted 

to be someone’s favourite scene.

Written: 2025