The stage hums beneath my feet,
its vastness swallowed by the quiet.
Soft music rises,
a breath, a murmur that wraps itself around me.
Lights blind, yet I see everything:
the still faces beyond the glow,
the dark void that waits
for me to fill it.
I lift my arms.
The music carries me like a current—
my body moves,
not as me, but as something lighter,
something that belongs only to this moment.
Every step is deliberate,
every pause held like a secret.
The sound threads through me,
as if I am its instrument,
shaped and reshaped by its tender command.
Time softens at the edges.
The crowd fades to a blur.
It is just the music,
the stage,
and the quiet knowing:
I am here.
And when the last note lingers,
hanging in the still air,
I hold the silence like an exhale.
The lights dim.
The applause rushes in,
loud and foreign,
pulling me back.
But for those moments,
for those steps and soft notes—
I was weightless.
I was alive.
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