Benched poetry stories

nova_pipping Nihilistic Existentialism, here to help.
Autoplay OFF   •   a year ago
As Whitney says, I wanna dance with somebody.


I'm sitting on the bench at the side of a dance floor.

I really want to dance.

It doesn't matter that I don't know this song.

I want to dance.

I look but I don't see anyone to dance with.

So I sit on my bench,

And I wait.

I could dance on my own; I've no problem with that.

And boy I can dance.

But I've been dancing for a long time and I struggle to keep up with the music.

So I sit on my bench,

And I think of what to do next.

I could ask someone if they would want to dance with me.

Yes, I could do that.

I can do that.

I know some people here I would ask.

But I don't know anyone who'd say yes.

New people are joining this dance all the time.

But I am still alone on my bench.

It's fine. I like it here.

I say to myself.

At least I can see my friend sitting further down the bench.

I am grateful for her.

I wouldn't be smiling without her.

I'm very excited for when she will get up and dance.

I like this song.

I look around.

Does anyone else like this song?

No one that's available does.

My sigh sinks me a few inches shorter.

And I look up at the ceiling.

Why am I even here?

I could leave.

But I like this song.

So I am waiting,

On my bench.

If anyone would like to dance with me,

I'm here.

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