it was a night worth to remember.
it had music exploding through the room,
it had bodies sweat out their glee,
it had us swimming in drinks and dimmed lights,
but all i remember was my silent footsteps.
maybe i was in a bubble,
maybe i had worn a cloak and no one could see me,
maybe i was simply a rush of air and found no reason to be more,
as everyone's faces became an addition of images,
clogging up my memory,
jacking up the ones i chose to remember
and blocking any sound i attempted to cause.
there were voices and eyes i couldn't familiarise,
the dirty flamboyance of their curves,
the unnerving interactions of when our shoulders bump,
the broken harmony of our bodies and selves.
maybe it wasn't a night worth remembering after all.
maybe i wished it was.
just as everyone else.
just as the people who lost themselves in the damp hall.
maybe i made myself worthless to make the night worth remembering.
that i didn't dance enough.
sang enough.
wore out my curves a little tighter.
spoke a little dirtier.
tried to become a stained reflection better.
the night was worth remembering. or so i thought. or so everyone made me think.
