The song is over

The song is over, and I strain to hear another note, hoping it’s a breath, a pause in verse. But there is no lingering, no orchestral resurgence. The blood in my ears keeps pumping, high tide, low tide, waves of silence and a roar of finality. I have witnessed beauty: stars exploding, dying, an act of existence, and at least, at some point, in some way, I existed too.