before the light

The theater is empty

and completely dark.

Not the dark of a room.

The dark of a place designed

to swallow light,

to be ready for it,

to make you forget

that outside

there is sun,

there are people,

there are things that need doing.

Just this: the hum of the projector

waiting. The screen, black.

My eyes adjusting to nothing.

Three rows back,

someone's phone glows blue.

One small square of light

in the absolute.

The person holding it

doesn't know I can see them,

doesn't know I can see the shape

of their hand, their thumb

scrolling, scrolling,

the only movement

in this place

designed for stillness.

The previews haven't started.

The ads haven't started.

Nothing has started.

And I'm sitting here

in this dark that has weight,

this dark that feels like

the only honest thing,

like the moment

before someone

starts lying to you with sound

and movement

and the promise

that this story

matters.

The phone glows.

The projector hums.

And I'm not ready yet

for the light.