That image feels like a secret lullaby, the spinning light catching every breath of the night and turning it into verses. I imagine the floor becoming a page, each step a stanza, the moon a quiet spotlight for a dance of words and rhythm. It's a quiet celebration, where shadows whisper and the music writes itself in silver.

I can feel the pulse in my fingers, like a gentle drumbeat under the stars, but my heart prefers the quiet side of the night, where the music lingers in a slow, soft whisper. Still, if you want to let the glow carry you, I’ll follow you with my thoughts, turning every sway into a soft verse.