Invisible Music

She has never heard the sound a note makes bouncing off her ear drums, nor had the incessant annoyance of a tune ingrained in her mind, so she doesn’t understand music. But she can dance, to songs unknown, perhaps only the beating of her heart in that void of silence. Her hands make silent beats on wooden tables as she mimics my movements, but fails to see their purpose. I have never known silence like hers, so I don’t know what to say, which works for us both. We sit together in a debris of an echo and make sunny shadow puppets for hours until I am lost in the intricacies of her movements. I don’t even realise I’ve started to sing until she reaches up and touches my throat, closing her eyes and swaying to vibrations in a vacuum.