He sits at the back of the theatre
Recalls how it was all new
Once
No colour, no computer generated effects
Not even sound.
He looks at people hunched over their phones.
People move so much faster
He doesn’t get why people
Wear their hair the way that
They do
Why the news is always bad
He knows that the day he wakes up
Without pain
Will be when he’s dead.
Stopping to make conversation
But there’s no time for that
People too busy
He looks out
Wishes not that he could go back
He treasures every precious mistake
Nor does he seek to disappear
No, what he asks for,
As the music swells
Is that things slow down
To the point
That we could all stop
See one another
And start to talk
She moves from the screen
From a time before
The world broke her spirit
Her lips press against his cheek
Not caring that his hands shook
Too much to shave
His chest grows tight
And he follows her
Leaving everything behind
Missing every frustrated second
As he lets the world go on
Without him.
MB Blissett 