Dancing With In My Ayes -

In those moments, the "eyes" he danced with were not the ones that had failed him years ago. They were the ones that lived in his pulse and his fingertips. When the record finally hissed into silence, the colors didn't fade immediately. They lingered like an afterglow, a private aurora borealis that only he could witness.

The high, sharp notes of the trumpet were flecks of gold, stinging and bright. The deep, thrumming bass was a velvet purple that wrapped around his ankles. He began to move. He wasn't a professional, but in the privacy of his mind, he was weightless. Dancing With In My Ayes

He took a breath, the damp city air cooling his skin. He was still in a dark room, but his spirit was still glowing. In those moments, the "eyes" he danced with