Empty Applause

Empty Applause

The lights dim,
sounds drained through closed doors
and she silently basks
in her solitude.
The curtains stand solidly on the stage floor
blocking out vast emptiness,
insignificance,
creating a bubble of swirling thoughts,
dreams, ideas,
sentences bouncing off invisible walls
distorting and returning.
Her black hair
melts down her back.
Sparkling, dancing,
deep eyes scan the backdrop
disappearing into the flowers
and grass—
the blue sky runs soft fingers
into melting locks.
Untouched feather blades
cushion the bare feet
she swirls across them.
Soft spoken fragrances
from the kaleidoscope of wild petals
soak into her dress and skin.
Creak!
The stool screams like a knife
into the bubble of her escape.
Reality pours in the gaping hole—
clouding out her serenity.
Standing, the actress sighs.
The play she starred in closed tonight.
The details were new
but the story common:
boy meets girl,
girl doesn’t know boy exists,
boy gets frustrated,
girl is depressed.
So common, so normal.
Her smile betrays relief
she isn’t that way.

Her figure slips out of the light
and the backstage door
echoes through the solitude.
He sighs, staring at the stool.
Every night he watched his friend
waiting for her to notice
his shadow by the curtain.
The backstage door echoes
and his loneliness,
and the night with its curtain of stillness
falls.

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