It’s like this.

I see the patterns for, maybe, a thousand possibilities. I have the time for two or three at once. How could I have known it would be like this?

Look what’s happened to my face.

I am here, but I don’t look it. Floating in a sky of similar, unfamiliar billions.

Smiling admirers cluster together for moments, enjoying sunlight and music. The thing in my middle is joyful or sad to the same consequence. The dour critics, like me, go wherever the dancers go.

The thing in my middle is its own creator. Yours, too. We know us as stories we like to hear about others. You are a tale about me.

Talk me into acceptance. Talk me into life. Talk me into a real good time.

(I went dancing last night)


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