Posture's up, hand's outstretched. There's a sudden thrill, a subtle thrill, as another takes your grasp and lets you spin around the room. Following you, maybe leading you, you don't know. The confusion from peripheral imagery flying by, constantly changing but always returning, doesn't scare you. Life is a circle, live it like one.
There are steps to take, careful steps, choreographed in their chaos, but always steady and always certain. Maybe you planned where your left foot planted, maybe you didn't. It doesn't really matter, because your right foot will always be somewhere else. How were you to know if you'd be left standing?
It's all about the moment, the here and now, and perhaps a little about what comes next. The embrace you had is done, gone forever, but haunting a memory. A surprise, perhaps, as you find yourself holding another high over your head. What's the value in flying if someone's beneath you? Is it worth more than the prideful loneliness of staring at someone above you?
Falling together to the ground, love. Lust, rising together to the quiet beat of song that isn't there. There's a beauty in not being able to see. Feel your way to the next position, feel your way through the reaching arms and the sound of feet refusing to stay still. Is that a glimmer of hope through the hint of sweat? Spinning around was never this much fun.
Touching another never felt so good, but the real passion lies in watching another's movement. In the distance, but never too far away from you. A graceful silhouette beckoning you closer, a shadow you can never catch. There are no tears shed tonight, they've already been shed. One step back and two steps forward. An unidentifiable pattern known only to the people dancing.
C'est la vie.
* This is the first part of what will hopefully be a nine-part entry in the River of Mnemosyne challenge that's happening over at The ...
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