Dancing With In My Ayes [BEST]

He spun, and the golden flecks trailed behind him like comet tails. He dipped, and the purple bass swelled into a tide. Every memory he had of light—the way the sun hit the lake, the neon flicker of a diner sign—refracted through the music. He wasn't just remembering light; he was becoming it.

He took a breath, the damp city air cooling his skin. He was still in a dark room, but his spirit was still glowing. Dancing With In My Ayes

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. He spun, and the golden flecks trailed behind