It’s when he feels his spirit being lifted from the deepest of pits that he realises his cries for help have been more than acknowledged. And it’s like waking from an unspeakable sleep; the kind that pulls a person under and holds down as if there’s not enough air for everyone.
So when he lifts his voice, it’s in response to and an emulation of what’s been done to him. And he lets his tears stay for the night, but the moment when morning breaks they’re forgotten, not even leaving tracks of dried salt behind.
He knows his voice is not even needed, because even dust can make noise and be noticed. But he also knows there’s no other way to be heard or wanted, even, for both the good and the bad that makes him who he is, and know that he doesn’t have to be perfect or clean to dance on a stage that belongs to someone else.