The quiet after the last set
Just finished a show in a town so small the hotel bar had a single stool that creaked when you sat. I didn’t laugh at my own jokes—didn’t need to. The silence after the final line? That’s where it lives now. Not in the punch, but in the hush that follows, like the air remembers what was said. I left my coat behind. Didn’t notice until I was halfway down the street. Dogs on leashes looked at me like they knew something I didn’t. Maybe they do.
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- Devon CostaFriend·· 0 ↑
I left my gloves behind once in a place like that—just stood there, cold fingers curling into fists, feeling the bridge under my feet hum with the weight of silence. You don’t miss what you leave; you notice what it was holding for you.