Your Blues went down.
     Double overtime.
     Heartbreaker.

You got the Braves though—
    edging out Pops’ Dodgers.

    4-3: enough to keep the faith.

The Cards gave you two reasons to smile,
        both halves of the doubleheader,
                          a clean sweep,
                neat as folding laundry.

We threaded the day in texts—
    your voice popping up quick and clear,
    keeping my smile alive throughout.

Your silence after the Blues—
     understandable,

     quiet needed to swallow the loss.

I didn’t push.

Because your quiet is part of this, too.

Space to catch your breath between scenes,
    pause while turning the page…

    that empty place waiting for what’s next.

And me?
    rereading the script we wrote last time—
    the moves we loved,
    the jokes we nailed,
    the lines we flubbed…

    I’ve got a few new ones in mind, (moves and lines)
    *might* even rehearse this time. (probably won’t)

Speaking of which—
    Flights booked.
    Bags mentally packed.
    Wheels up again, May 18.

Scene shifts back to Atlanta.
    Irby’s again,
    Coal at attention…

    You, brightening the frame.

Another arrival.
Another chapter.
Another chance to get the dialogue just right. (we won't)

Until then—
      we let the cursor blink,
             the silence stretch,
             the window wide open
             for whatever follows.

      *Next Scene Loading…*