Bellmere Studio

It’s the kind of heat that lingers and doesn’t move. Outside, London buzzes, buses pass and pavements shimmer. But in here, everything is still. The fan turns slowly. There’s no breeze, just air and breath. You sit at the piano, not to accomplish anything, not to practice, just to be with the sound. Each note feels suspended, like a bead of sweat that hasn’t fallen. There’s no hurry. No aim. The music isn’t there to express, it’s just holding something. This isn’t about release. It’s about staying inside: inside yourself, the room, the moment. No need to open a window. The stillness is already enough.

The air still hasn’t moved. But something in you has. Not much, just enough to notice. The music didn’t cool the room. It cooled the space inside your ribs. Stillness isn’t absence. It’s a form of holding. And for now, that’s more than enough.