It is once more

The seats crowded together in the dark, flashing lights beam across the stage. Fingers gripping, hearts threatening to burst out between the buttons of the grey shirts. There is no sobbing and there is no frown. There is no longing nor regret. Sitting, once more with a slight smile. There are only fond memories. Yet to entertain the thought that these memories will be reenacted, differently from the first production of hair pushing against gravity and lips biting, produces a sigh that digs far deeper than the oil can run.