The room hums with voices—laughter, shouts,
Hands clutch cans, the air electric, alive.
The quarterback steps back, scans the field.
A pass arches high, slicing blue sky.
Eyes widen, motion caught mid-air—hope,
A receiver\'s arms stretching, the moment.
He is there, waiting in open territory,
An anthem of glory poised to erupt.
But silence, sudden, like a lightning crack.
The screen stills, pixels frozen in betrayal.
A groan rises, heavy as Sunday itself,
Connection lost, wires unseen severed.
We sit, stranded in time\'s aching hold,
The roar of the crowd a phantom\'s echo.
Around us, life breathes, dust-speckled, calm,
But our gaze lingers on that vanished arc.