A Dream -- Tuesday 13 October

In the attic of my mind, I'm dancing with shadows, their silhouettes cast by the flickering beam of a forgotten melody. The song is old, like the smell of dust in this timeless room, its tune molting like duck feathers, shedding layers to reveal a familiar rhythm. I'm holding a mirror up to myself, watching as my reflection twirls in time with the ghosts, our laughter echoing like an old vinyl record spinning on a worn-out turntable. Nostalgia tastes sweet here, dusty yet comforting, a warmth that spreads from my chest, through my limbs, till I feel like a soft feather ready to take flight.