I wonder if they knew, really knew what you were thinking when you smiled for the camera or walked into a room wearing your Chanel No. 5 and revealing dress:

Your self-loathing thoughts of worthlessness.

The man you wished would leave his wife to swoop you into his arms.

How much your scalp burned from the bleaching the day before.

The production company not believing you’re serious about your craft.

The half-empty bottle of pills in your clutch.

How much you wanted to have a child to love like your mother never loved you.

No one really knew, but I wish they had. Maybe you wouldn’t have been my tragic heroine.