starrynight

The buttercup yellow rays of sunlight filter through the windows, hitting the dusty marley floor in soft, scattered patterns. Dreamy, almost ethereal warmth reflects throughout the room as the gentle hum of the empty studio invites me in.

Without sound, I am adrift,
a puppet with severed strings,
my movements hollow, my purpose lost.
But when the music takes a breath
it fills the empty space,
giving weight to each movement,
meaning to each pause.