The Solo Pt. 2

Clocks are always ticking.

They have their own music.

They never dance to the same beat.

We sit. I sit beside my friends- 

my few friends- along the side of the dance floor.

I had a lot of friends.

Most have gotten up to dance- 

they haven't left the floor since.

Isn't that a scary thought?

My friend says through whispers that crawl through a cusped hand.

I ask her not to think it, not to say.

She shrugs as dancers do, and turns away to watch the floor again.

But I know she's right. 

One by one, we rise to dance- or that's what we're waiting for.

I may stand.

I may take the proper stance.

I may begin to twirl..

But I always sit back down.

As I sit and watch twinkling dresses leap to and fro,

enthralled by the light, I know.

Shadows explode across the mirrors lining the room.

The song changes.

Dancers walk by, searching for a partner.

Because only couples dance here.

They look, they see.

My heart leaps at the pauses, the back steps and the hands reaching out-

I hang my head low as I hear the shoes shuffle by.

I finish my friend's thought... although she is not here to listen.

She began to dance a little while ago,

and hasn't stopped.

What if I sit here, chin kissed to hand, in my ruffles and curls, memorizing step after step,

watching all dance- forever?

....

I will not look down the corridor.

Those who dance alone do not dance for long.

Or at least that's what is said.

But what can I do?

If I must dance, and I must, will I sit watching, waiting alone

or step into the dark room to dance solo?

I've always been afraid of the dark.

The darkness is lonely- it eats every bit of you inside until you become one with it.

You don't know what lurks and creeps in the dark.

I'm afraid of the dark room.

But I am afraid of the darkness that penetrates the soul as I wait.

I peek over my shoulder down the hall to the room. 

....

I must, I must try.