Littoral

i didn’t walk. i sat in the first row, just close enough to feel the beat in my chest

the floor glowed— light from above sharp and circular caught on the sweat of a shoulder mid-dip. it stayed there longer than expected.

i wasn’t walking. but i was inside it. inside the noise, the heat, the charge. inside the circle of people screaming each other into aliveness.

and that’s the thing. this isn’t just spectacle. it’s communion. it’s how we stay legible to each other.

in the light of our own making. again. until the lights cut until the floor clears until the next time. again.