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The corridor was open to the sky, but it felt enclosed—not by roof or wall, but by something quieter. Presence, perhaps. Or patience.

I stood long enough for the shadows to shift and the air to warm. Nothing called for attention. Still, the light arrived. Still, it touched the dancer above the doorway, and something in her softened.

This image began with silence. It remains there.

light touches the wall—
not to illuminate it,
but to listen well


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