She falls upon the dancers wrapping and twisting them in light. Hums of ghosts play under her, whispers of their chairs being shuffled, squeaking in her ears. Hanging tightly from her knuckles,  hidden behind curtains, peeking out to say hello.  She watches, changing but staying. Dust crawls into her wrinkles, laying thick on her gel skin. Her nerves strung—  controlled by buttons and switches, sliding up and down. She casts along the tongue-tied singers, cued with blackouts for goodbyes, acting the same play millions of times. However, when left on for too long— her color fades and ages, missing the performers once on her stage to twirl and dance with  in another life. Oh, how simple to watch them  come and go— restrained by wires wishing to clasps hands and bow.