curtains
waiting
Written based on a prompt and the image below from Labyrinthia Mythweaver,
🕯️Salon of the Mythweaver🕯️
Sunday image prompt.
The Theater of Decay
What was this place?
What happened here?
The players?
The audience?
What story does this image conjure for you?
I walked into the theatre
and thought the stage was empty.
It wasn’t.
It was waiting.
Years of voices
still pressed into the curtains,
lines spoken so often
even the dust
knew where to fall.
For a moment
the curtains didn’t rise.
They listened.
Balconies leaning —
not to hold the roof,
but to keep the air
from forgetting
how people once gathered here.
You thought it was silence.
It wasn’t.
It was patience
settling slowly
into wood and velvet.
Somewhere
between pillar and shadow
the building leaned closer —
not to shelter you —
but to let the light
touch your shoulders
and remind the stage
how briefly
we shine.
ㅤ
For those who choose to go a little deeper
paid subscribers get
access to a Guided Noticing,
and occasional paid-only pieces,
Everything I publish publicly stays public.
This is about making space for slower work, and for people who want to stay close to how it’s made.
If you’ve been hovering, this is a good moment to step in.
I’m always open to thoughtful writing collaborations.
Other prose and poems from me.
Nothing truly leaves — it just changes how it stays.
If something moved in you — a silence that whispered — I’d love to hear it below, or in my DM’s.
All artwork courtesy of NDjin Gallery
Thanks for sharing @PancakeSushi 😊
The curtains listening before they rise is such a good creepyyy little thought..! Good job with this one, Sensei~!