exit stage left
I can see it now - how the leaving works: everyone exits when the lights are out. There’s no final word spoken between us - cutting and sharp - to sever the strings.
No malice or hatred, no screaming accusations. No blue-tinted breakdown - spilled water on the hardwood.
Instead, the dimming of the room; just for a moment - for an indrawn breath or two. Lights up and no one is there but you. Empty cup on the counter. Your number, unused.
Sometimes, a feeling, which cannot linger; a fire sparking on an unlit stage. And in the darkness, light is smothered by silence (or else, by the space that remains).
I've seen its shape - the coming and going: a lone shadow passing on the back wall; the black pinprick of the afterimage - first, a Godlight glow, then a void-like hole.