Last letters to the performers.
The sun whispers through my curtains
Dancing on my face with its rays
Small remnants of blue crusted and crumbling around my eyes
Singing a sorrowful song to my mind, and reflecting speckles of light onto my sheets
I cannot bring myself to clean them off
To wipe them away would be to accept time; how could I
Choose to drift further from the moment?
Months of preparation
For one moment, one performance
Just one.
One sound, one band.
Just one.
The water flowed through our souls and bodies onto the floor
We will never be the same
We will never be the same
Performing with tears caught behind our eyes
We rejoice in our final run
Just one.
