Dancing With In My Ayes -

The rain didn’t just fall in Seattle; it orchestrated. For Elias, a man whose world had slowly dimmed into a permanent midnight, the sound of water hitting the pavement was his only sheet music.

He stood in the center of his small apartment, the air smelling of cedar and old books. Most people thought blindness was a wall, but for Elias, it was a stage. He reached out, his fingers brushing the velvet of a chair he knew by heart, and then he closed his eyes—a habit he’d never quite broken. "Dancing with in my eyes," he whispered to the empty room. 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. The rain didn’t just fall in Seattle; it orchestrated