It has always been you.
The others are drafts. Stories with no endings. Crumpled pieces of paper. Interims prior to your grand entrance.
I have searched for you my whole life.
Imposters tried to take your place, posing as you.
They could never replicate the masterpiece.
They attempted to fill the void.
Still I waited for you.
Knowing one day, you would appear.
In the words of Juliet, you are the God of my idolatry.