I conducted a symphony made of silence

I was standing in the middle of a cathedral, not with an orchestra, but with the absence of one. The air hummed—not with notes, but with the weight of what wasn’t played. Every breath I took echoed like a held chord. A single violinist sat at the back, eyes closed, bow still in hand. No sound came out, but the room trembled anyway. I raised my baton—just once—and the silence folded into itself, like a letter never sent. When I opened my eyes, the audience was gone, and the music hadn’t ended. It had just become something else.