There's a beat I don't remember,

but it keeps searching for me.

It rises from the floor like a black river,

runs through my bones,

asks me the name I no longer use.

The lights flicker.

The sky bends.

Someone opens a portal behind the crates.

It's not a threat,

it's an invitation.

I walk among shining ruins,

every stone sings a different note,

every shadow wants to dance.

My breath turns to blue vapor,

intertwines with the bass,

dissolves in a chorus of benevolent ghosts.

A distant voice whispers to me:

“Don't go back.

Time is useless here.”

And then I run.

I run into the beat,

into the flash,

into the glitch that ushers in the night.

The world shatters into a thousand luminous fragments,

and in each one I see a version of myself

that isn't afraid of anything.

I take them all by the hand,

and we become one creature of light,

that dances,

that vibrates,

that doesn't ask permission.

The rave becomes a temple.

The temple becomes a dream.

The dream becomes a weapon.

And I—

I become sound.