Dancing With In My — Ayes

It was a phrase his grandmother used to say. It didn't mean seeing with sight; it meant seeing with the soul. As the jazz record spun—a scratchy, soulful Miles Davis track—the darkness behind his lids began to change. It wasn't black anymore. It was a kaleidoscope of textures.

In those moments, the "eyes" he danced with were not the ones that had failed him years ago. They were the ones that lived in his pulse and his fingertips. When the record finally hissed into silence, the colors didn't fade immediately. They lingered like an afterglow, a private aurora borealis that only he could witness. Dancing With In My Ayes

Should we explore a specific for the next part of Elias's journey, or It was a phrase his grandmother used to say