The acts, the scenes: teeth on an escapement holding back infinity.
Your play over, it rushes forward.
And whenever they started, however short the scenes, infinities all end together;
and so here we are.
To come together; was that the point?
To take off the glove then, to try to memorise its feel and then to walk home, desperately trying to hold it within us; was that the point?
But, anyway, did you enjoy your play?
Did you?