For me dance is still the purest form of immediate emotional expression. Movements require no explanation, and can express everything that your feeling. There is a moment when your dancing were the scenery fades away and the beat of the music is inside you, and for however long you can keep yourself in the place everything just feels right. That’s one of the fifty millions reasons i will always love dance.
It was nearly October so the sun had been gone for hours by this time. I sat down on the steps leading down into randomly placed outdoor tables, with wilting umbrellas which I had never seen open. Steam burst out of the back of the restaurant, heavily under the street lamps. The smell of cooking duck, noodles, and other oriental wonders wafted towards me, and I realized how good of an idea it had been for me to make food. I lit my cigarette, enjoying the feeling of the smoke filling up my insides. I watched the embers dance along the end as I exhaled. I was struck by the memory of pretending to be smoking when I was young in winter, and so my breath was clearly visible. I used to roll up my parents receipts and those would be my cigarettes. I would leave them perched on my lips for hours, until my mother, or father eventually took it away. I guess I had always wanted to be a smoker.
-random journal entry
Time takes away all things. The first thing you forget about a person is how they sound. The fluctuations in their vocal patterns which used to make your heart beat like a jazz drummer on a encore performance. The sounds all fade, your memory of a moment now muted, like a half remembered dream. You play back your memories of you and them, a sad silent film among the reels which constitute your remembered life.
This is where i find myself. Awake at what will soon be five in the morning. The light from my phone a focus point of activity in my dark bedroom. A small star around which float my hopes of connection. I try to remember the sound of your laugh. I remember you doing it into my neck, as I carried you on my back through Disney World, trying to find the nearest bathroom. I still remember the way your breath felt against my cheek, and how i could think about was how close our faces were. I don’t hear the sound though. the only sound I have in connection with you now is the buzz of my phone when you message me from thousands of miles away. That is the closest sound i have to falling in love. A buzz in the dark at five in the morning to let me know that you feel the same.
I hope this finds you well. I was scrolling through tumblr and i came across an image of a woman who bore a staggering resemblance to you. The resemblance lay not only in the physical similarities, but also in her presence, and the curve of her smile. It was as all photographs are a static capture of a frozen moment, but that moment was enough to spark a strong feeling of nostalgia, strong enough that it has lead me to writing you this letter. I remember the way your hair curled, wild and beautiful. Golden coils which always fell into your face. The way you habitually pulled your sleeves up into the palm of your hands, whether out of nerves or force of habit, i would never know. You know when you see someone and you fall for them instantly? In that childish, burning and fumbling kind of love. you know the feeling won’t last, but in that moment it fills up so much of you that you might burst. That feeling took came over me that night as we only spoke to each other for the entire party. I hardly remember much else besides the two of us tucked in a corner pressed against each other and our eyes never straying from the other’s.
You swept me out of my world, with your accent and your personality. A woman born of wild places, strong and passionate. I had never met anyone the likes of you before. You found me that night, the version of myself that i had kept carefully hidden for so long. You took my virginity and then you left, and i loved you for it. You took some part of me away with you, and left me with the gift of my memories of a mysterious girl who tore open my world.
- A letter i found in one of my journals from a couple of years ago. I never sent it.
I’m fucking sick of writing, but also it’s all I want to do. Whyyyyyy
Sometimes i feel that some small part of all of us can feel that the world is falling apart. Some of us listen, but the rest of us just pretend we cant feel anything at all.
Punk goes pop *queue violent teenage nostalgia*