8:07 p.m.

The violins are in the midst of pizzicato to arco, when you finally acknowledge me.

Everyone is watching me fall in different ways at that moment. On the floor, to my death, from heaven and grace, out of love.

Those green eyes are in denial of tripping me, tricking me.

So much embarrassment, and it has led me backstage to ponder.

The tears are mixing into the cold sweat.

I think of how we met in such a dark matinée. Our first kiss took place on stage. It was an injury that made you fall into the dark. Then, it was a senseless betrayal to upset me more. A sure-fire grin to entice again.

Rehearsals are meant to prepare, and yet they have not done that for heartbreak and heart restoration.

With the same person.