New Born King(Derrick Lokiar){Xmas}ORI…

Moony night

I was seventeen when I first heard the disco music.
Not with my ears—with my ribs. It came through the floorboards of the abandoned pier, a heartbeat stolen from the sea, and it said, Hello, you.
I had come to forget.
My brother had died the week before—motorcycle, rain, a curve that didn’t forgive. I carried his last text like a shard under the skin: “Look up tonight; I’m borrowing the stars.” I couldn’t look up. The sky was a mirror, and I hated what I saw.
So I walked until the town ended and the pier began, where the boards were soft with rot and the air tasted of rusted love letters. That’s when the bass found me. Boom-boom-boom. Not loud—low, like the earth clearing its throat. A single bulb flickered in the rafters of the old dance hall, swinging in a wind no one else felt.
Inside, they were already dancing.
Shadows, maybe. Or memories of wearing other people’s faces. A girl in a silver jacket moved as if her spine had been replaced by light; every step rewrote gravity. She saw me, smiled without curiosity, and extended a hand that hummed like a live wire.
I took it.
Instantly the grief inside me was rearranged into 4/4 time. My feet learned a language older than sorrow. We didn’t speak—why ruin perfection with nouns?—but her eyes said, Even if life is hurting, things that happen don’t mean a thing. A thing? Nothing. And somehow that was comfort enough.
Hour after hour we chased the stars across the warped parquet. The bulb above us burned hotter, shortening its life so we could lengthen ours. Each time the DJ—faceless, ageless, probably dead—lifted the needle, the room inhaled. Each drop was a resurrection. Louder, louder, louder, get us higher and higher.
I remembered my brother teaching me to tie my shoes while he hummed a tune he’d stolen from somewhere neither of us had been. “When the music’s loud enough,” he’d said, “the dead can dance without feet.” I’d laughed. I wasn’t laughing now; I was sweating stardust.
At 4:47 a.m. the bulb popped. Darkness swallowed the hall in one gulp. The music didn’t stop—it simply moved inside us. I felt her heartbeat through our joined palms, a second tiny bass drum. She leaned close enough for her breath to become my bloodstream.
“Hello, you,” she whispered. “Time to go.”
I understood. Every waltz with the past has a last step. We walked to the edge of the pier where the water below was busy forgetting the shape of the moon. She kissed my forehead—electric, summer-breeze goodbye—and stepped backward into air. No splash. Just the echo of hello rippling outward forever.
I never found the dance hall again. By daylight the pier was a skeleton, condemned, humming only with gulls. But on certain nights when the hurt grows teeth, I return in the dark. I lay my hand on the splintered railing. The bass answers, faint but faithful.
And somewhere between the thumps I hear him—my brother—laughing in the language of vinyl and vinyl-spinning stars. “Look up,” he says. I do. The sky is no longer a mirror; it’s a dance floor.
And I move.
Not much—just a sway, enough to keep the chain of love from kinking. Chain. Chain. Chain. I whisper into the black, Hello, you, wherever you are.
The stars, bless them, blink back in perfect 4/4.


I’m watching the stars above me,
I am dancing now and at least,
Even if the life is hurting,
Things that happen don’t mean a thing.
A thing? Nothing.

Look at what we did with the wrong.
When we sing a song like that song,
That it gets us feeling better, better.
I can see the hope in your eyes.

In the hush of the summer skies,
Scenes of the past, friends of old times.
Hey! See your life flashing before the lights,
When they make the music louder.

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#brightbrassstabs #uplifting #euphoric #steady #4_4beat

Kwon Letok Am Al Bajok

LaCobCob Alson 23