The Last Song Has Played, It Is Time to Go Home

The Last Song Has Played, It Is Time to Go Home

The lights dim and the hall exhales one final sigh.

The echo of applause lingers like a fading perfume.

I fold myself into the quiet that follows,

Knowing the music is gone and the night must end.

The doors creak as I step outside into cold streets.

The sky stretches empty above me, vast and still.

I walk, carrying each note like a fragile ember,

Until the warmth of home draws me near.

I set my coat aside and the chair sighs beneath me.

Outside, the city sleeps without a sound.

I let the last melody settle into my bones.

Tomorrow, it will live only in memory.

The clock ticks softly against the walls of my room.

Every shadow seems a witness to what has passed.

I breathe in the silence that music has left behind.

The night folds itself around me, gentle and complete.

The faint smell of wine lingers in the air.

Empty glasses echo the laughter that filled the room.

I recall each note that rose and fell like fire.

I hold the night quietly, unwilling to let go.

I sit by the window, watching stars ignite.

The moon listens, patient, as I remember.

Every song has ended, but their echoes remain.

And in that stillness, I feel both lost and whole.