the beat in your feet
I filled my heart up with the sounds and the people and the awkward oddity of the whole thing. The world refracted in the wicked swirls of my thumb-print, etched into a pane of frost and casting rainbows through the place where an old scar made its mark. So maybe it wasn't what we wanted, and it really wasn't although we were each looking for something different, it still gave us something to contemplate. I liked the tiny, wild girl and her hop-stomp dance moves and the tall, awkward guy in orange dancing like a puppet with jangly strings. Like a puppet being operated by a shaking junkie on the down. It wasn't pretentious, but would have been more enjoyable if the dance floor had actually been populated. The music made my heart happy though; lately all I can listen to is trance/electronica because it's the only thing that doesn't make me feel droopy and depressed. All I want to do is dance.
I don't think I have the stamina to bar hop, not even at nineteen, but a part of me would really enjoy partying it up every night. Really, it's a crazy feeling, I just want to be dancing all the time. So I dance all day at work, with my ipod on and the trance beating its way into my veins, but it's not enough. I need the crowded dance floor, the rush of a mob-mentality excitement, meeting someone's eyes and just knowing how free you both are in that moment. I can dance alone but it's just more fun when other people are enjoying it just as much as me. And I can't even be modest about it, dancing is one of the few things I rock at.
So come dance with me.