Dance


It wasn’t just any moment, it was a drop-by-drop ocean of agonzing seconds built until there was no light at the end of the tunnel.  She wasn’t staring into space but she was remembering things she couldn’t taste or smell anymore. Because they didn’t exist. But it felt like she was breathing life into something new and forbidden. It was dangerous, it was bound to end badly but once bitten, twice shy, some lessons are still learnt the hard way. There was no time to think, no time to collect those thoughts into something cohesive or sensible because that wasn’t how this worked. If logic could be applied here, she would, but she was just a broken recorder telling herself the same thing again and again. It was okay to be this way, it was okay to have shades and moods because she was a human too. A woman, yes, but a human being first. Above and beyond everything else.

It wasn’t working because there were things on her mind which she wished she had said. But she was coy. That should be okay too. There shouldn’t be a label. Her head was churning crazy images out at her; things she could or should do because there seemed to be no escape. But it was okay. She was strong enough to take conscious decisions, strong enough to stand by them and defend them. Even if the world was crushing her and she simply couldn’t bear it. Even if there was no help coming from anywhere. Especially if there was no help coming from anywhere.

At moments like these, she couldn’t take it though. The waiting, the pounding heart, the shifting looks, the heartbeats. Was there a word for this condition which made her palms sweaty and her eyes moist? Maybe it was just how stereotype defined it. Maybe she needed a rain check.

She felt the sweet agony of a bitter truth she shouldn’t have to swallow. This wasn’t perfect but life rarely was. She would learn to bear it but she only needed a little distraction, a few more moments of recreation. This wasn’t what addiction was, surely? She could let it go as and when she wanted. It was just a matter of time. There was nothing binding her here but she would sit, quietly, primly and obediently, letting her soul take in a few cherished memories, so that later when it was all gone and she was sitting alone, regretting, she could at least have some scope for conjecture. For, when a soul dances as if it is lit up on fire and it lets another soul see the simmering, sometimes music is born and for a little while, they let the flames wash over them and smile, holding hands, whispering comforting lies or the stark truth- it doesn’t matter because the looking back will only be done fondly. And when that happens, you’re free to fly and just be something new for a little while until the chains of who you’ve figured yourself out to be pull you back into the gravity-fed, thundering shadows of your miserable niche.

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