he breathes in crumpled silk, dreading the moment it will slip out his washed-out lungs. he wanted to hold onto this remnant of beauty, this remnant of hope. but as with everything, it too left him. the legends whisper of the time when light slipped past our fingers, evading the grasp of eagerly cupped hands. for who knows what happens when the lantern flickers out? an eclipse baptizes the earth, and we are bathed in inky darkness. and so, he hides his face under a veil of ashy smoke and joins the procession of those who lost light. wandering among the trail of the forgotten. trapped between two worlds; forever cursed to be servants at the master’s table. but sometimes, fragments of hope will swirl in his ear, and his fingers will coax rhapsodic melodies and burnt-honey harmonies from ebony and ivory. waves of sound collide with the force of a thousand supernovas, and you can hear their echoes like floating specters. surpassing limits he never knew existed. and it shines, luminous even under his shuttered eyelids. beautiful, glorious light, soaking the tips of calloused fingers and pencil-lead hair. and for a fleeting moment, he is reborn again.