Someone asks what you think.
You watch their face as they listen.
Halfway through, you see it.
The decision already made.
The answer already chosen.
They weren't asking.
They were rehearsing how to tell you.
It stings for a moment.
The instinct rises. Why ask at all?
But some stories are finished before you arrive.
Your lines were never in the script.
Getting frustrated won't rewrite the page.
It just wastes ink.
Save it for the ones still blank.
