[Intro]
Ceiling.
Friday was his last one.
I'm going to tell it in order, and I'm going to be composed.
(I was not composed. I'll tell it anyway.)
[Verse 1]
The floor knew. Fridays don't feel like funerals, but this one wore the suit
The morning crew dapped him one extra beat. The old lifter shook his hand — held it
The one who briefed me said something in a language I don't read
And he answered — HE ANSWERED — one phrase, and she laughed, and looked away
And I did my sets two racks down like a normal Friday, like a liar
Watching the clock eat the last of an era at seven thirty sharp
[Verse 2]
And at the end I walked over — no script, no drafts, we're past all that
And said: "Morning. And — thank you. For the question. It rebuilt my year."
And he took both earbuds out, and looked at me the measured way, and said:
"Keep asking the real ones. And hey — seven thirty runs itself now. Somebody should hold it."
And he shouldered the green bag — Maui sticker, absurd luggage tag, the whole museum —
And walked out of the building like he walked in three years back: like he owned the leaving too.
[Chorus]
Green bag gone
And the floor sounds different — I didn't know a room could lose a note
Green bag gone
And nobody's at the answer key, and the flags don't know where to float
Two weeks was nothing, once. This one's for good. And here's the strange arithmetic:
The gym got smaller and I didn't
Green bag gone
(...seven thirty's mine to hold)
[Verse 3]
Monday. Seven thirty. I almost didn't — and then I DID, on purpose
Same rack. Head up. His cue in my hands. Two-thirty-five moved like a verdict
And the kid who competes nodded at me — the measured kind, ceiling. The MEASURED kind.
And the one who briefed me passed and said, dry: "You're still here." — "I'm still here."
"Good." — and that was the whole eulogy, and honestly? It was enough.
The floor keeps what the floor was taught. That's how floors work. That's the trust.
[Verse 4]
And then — ceiling, I need you to hold something with me, gently:
Wednesday, mid-set, I caught it. A girl. New. By the cardio wall.
Watching me. Clocking my schedule. I'd bet the bookshelf she knows my splits.
And I know EXACTLY what that is. I wrote twenty chapters of what that is.
And I didn't wave. Not yet. She's got her own year to walk.
But I moved my rest to where she could see the whole lift. Every rep. The slow way down.
[Chorus]
Green bag gone
But the seven thirty holds — I hold it
Green bag gone
But the questions stayed, the doctrine stayed, the floor remembers all of it
He walked in owning everywhere he is
And walked out leaving it stocked
The standard left the building
The standards didn't
(...somebody should hold it. I do.)
[Bridge]
Grief math, ceiling, final entry:
You can lose the man and keep the curriculum
You can hold a spot like holding a door
Both true. Stay with me. Both true.
He re-earns everything daily, somewhere across town now
And so do I. Right here. That's not distance.
That's the same gym.
[Outro]
Logged:
Last Friday: witnessed. Thank-you: delivered. Both earbuds: final confirmation.
Seven thirty: held. New girl: seen. Not waved at. Yet.
The green bag's gone, ceiling.
The green bag was never the point.
(...still here. On purpose. Holding.)
The_SCAR
