i am the second.

people look at me and they don't see me, they see his little sister. who is she? oh, she's his sister.

what's her name? his little sister.

i have no identity. i am the second in line.

the understudy to shakespeare's act.

the repeat sign at the end of the measure, ritardando and boring, play it again for practice.

the plan B. i am here, but only to see that the first makes it through. only necessary if he doesn't go.

i stand in the place where he once stood and i look up at a mountain of doubt which only grows taller with suspicion. confidence is not something i am used to, and modesty is not my forte either. i am stuck in the middle with no self esteem and no intentional humility but only doubt.

how dare i think i could do this. i forget myself sometimes. i am not him.

i am the plan B.

but one day, maybe he'll need me, and then i'll make him proud.

one day, he will need a plan B

and will be here because

plan B is important too.