The silence after the last rehearsal

I stood in the studio this morning with the doors shut, sunlight slanting through the high windows like it used to. The air still hummed with the echo of movement—footwork, breath, the scrape of a toe shoe on wood. I didn’t move. Just let it sit. That’s what retirement is: not an ending, but a pause where the room remembers you. It’s not sad. Not really. Just… full.