Miscast

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Hurrah!
The calm I have
so long pursued, at last, is here.

I awaken unworried.
I talk unmindful of yesterdays or tomorrows.
I sleep well sometimes and not so well sometimes, as usual.

I am myself so much that I am amused,
appalled and more than a little apprehensive.

I have accepted the end too serenely, I think.
It is unlike me.
I refuse to believe it's completely understood, 
        though I must admit I've had a long time to prepare:
many stage rehearsals where I tried to do the part right.

Always I would flub a line, a gesture,
and knowing I had failed, tearfully flee,
while praying I would not be fool enough to return again.

Unless,
        if to do so could mean the dream of a lifetime.
        And to me it did.

So each time I returned, resolved to do better, try harder,
hang in there longer.
With the room before me,
I would straighten my costume, reassess my demeanor--
        not too serious mind you, remember this scene does
        not call for emotion--and walk grandly on the stage.

I had to believe I could be in the happy ending, but it
        was not meant to be.

Finally, they were forced to let me go,
And I am again composed, and at ease with myself,
free to be me.

And I am surprised
to find myself so composed.