So we danced
So we danced prose stories
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anon
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And I dedicated duets to you lying in the middle of the floor, staring into the ceiling. Something you told me to do when things got tough. I’m feeling inadequate. Not with love, I am happy with my love. But in life. I have bitten off an awful lot this year. October was eerily kind to me.
By fullyimportantbear http://fullyimportantbear...

So we danced

by fullyimportantbear

And I dedicated duets to you lying in the middle of the floor, staring into the ceiling. Something you told me to do when things got tough. I’m feeling inadequate.

Not with love, I am happy with my love. But in life. I have bitten off an awful lot this year. October was eerily kind to me.

I watched shadows of us dance across the ceiling, parts of us hidden in the shadows,

the candle flickering and the crease of light peering through the cracked door of an old house I now call home, the only lights worth having on.

I spent a great deal of time obsessing over things I have no control over. Things that even if I could control, wouldn’t matter. The back of my head balanced to the wood floors.

The pauses between breaths. To count. In numbers where we all find a sort of peace. Maybe the reason for math.

Because it just is, there’s no room for chewing on the possibilities, it is concrete and that is comforting. So I inhale and I exhale and I surprise myself with my patience.

The long draws in and steady release out. Maybe you feel me, th thought that perpetuates my awkward behavior. Maybe you’re lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling, imagining shadows as us.

And us will be my insomnia escape. Us will be why I hang the pictures where I do and organize my closet like this.

Us will circulate in my mind, never resting and eventually, in due time, I will not think about us at all. I’ll just fold the laundry and put it away.

I’ll just listen to music without the bitter nostalgia. I’ll just put on my face for the rest of the world and move about it on a day to day basis.

And I won’t search for you in a crowd, on every street corner, in every cafe. And there’ll be no soundtrack to our love, long dead and gone.

There’ll be no cinematicy to the traffic in the rain, or the smoke from the mouth out the second floor window, or the way I tip-toed through the wall.

It will be just as it is, and there’ll be no audience of any of it. Just as there never was.

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