The end of a relationship leaves you with a mind that will not stop working. You replay what happened, what it meant, what you should have said, and the replay runs at night when you want to sleep and in the morning before you open your eyes. You have talked it through with everyone patient enough to listen, and you are still carrying it, because you cannot talk your way out of something you feel in your chest.
For seventy-five minutes you have nothing to answer, nothing to decide, and no one to perform for. You feel the sound in your chest before you can explain it, and you rest deeper than you can get to on your own.
The night, plainly #
A partner room in Denver. Tickets are $65. If you need to step out during the night, the door is beside you and nobody will make it a moment. On the way in you draw a card with one line on it, and it is yours to keep. You lie down under blankets in low light, and there is a formal opening, a long descent of engineered sound with live instruments, and a formal close. Some nights we offer one invitation, like a moment of meeting another person’s eyes, and you hear about it at the door, never as a surprise. Every invitation is optional. If you’d rather stay on the floor, that’s what the floor is for. After, there is tea for anyone who wants to stay and an open door for anyone who doesn’t.
Most people leave quieter than they came, and some leave lighter than that. Some feel a lot in the room, some feel very little, and some sleep, and all three count. What you put down that night is yours to choose.
The first date #
The first date is being set now. Write to us and check the box, and you will hear before the poster does. Seats are few by design.
If you come and it wasn’t for you, say so and your ticket comes back.