Dancing On My Own

In our 20s we want love, spacious dance floors, and answers. We’ll spend countless weekends stumbling in painful footwear, only to carry our boots in our hands and walk barefoot into our cabs. We politely excuse ourselves from conversations and think of the boys who keep their hands warm in your jean pockets. We don’t want to be selfish for using the word want so much, but yet here we are.


We untangle our headphones, put on our favourite walking tune, and for just one moment we’re our own cinematic spectacle. Maybe it’s the beauty of seeing our world as its own film. Most importantly we hope the dramatic moments we create in our crowded minds will result in an acapella part of a song forcing the audience to pay close attention to what’s about to happen in front of them,
they lock eyes from across the street
she smiles even though she shouldn’t
he hears the dialtone when she looks away
the instrumental continues
she walks away from a situation that felt like a dead bolted door but was really swinging back and forth the entire time.

We’re not the only ones who know anymore. It’s so hard to be private in an environment that thrives on public spectacles. There’s so many outlets, you’re looking at one right now, to which people reveal that they only put out there what they wish others to see. In reality they’re right. But hold that pose.

I like timing. I like when the universe hands you something so gently and you have the voice of a toddler when you say, “No! I don’t want it” but it’s so aggressive. It comes at full force.
What do we want?
Mutual respect, and a little affection (ageless concept)
How do we get it?
It’s not for everybody!

But what if time was trying to teach us something? How many times do we really have to reconsider everything we text, post, snap, or paint so vividly for other person to realize that we’re pretty much walking the plank all whilst trying to get them to smile at us that way just one more time. However, we were taught that if we don’t fight right away, we’ll fight too late. Or at least, that’s what I learned. So I hopped into as many cabs as possible, and played the same Robyn song continuously to justify my actions, that I’m 20 and I have to say yes to everything that makes me feel electric.

But Thursday night, as I refused to move off of a recycled bean bag chair for a solid 7 hours, I kept looking at this post trying to understand what it really means to dance on your own. But the best part was, is that we never really are, and when it’s just you and 10 other people singing to the top of your lungs up the stairs, down the hallway, make a right into the karaoke bar, you begin to see that.

So I kept the song, but changed the rhythm, and found a Kings of Leon cover. I braved the cold, hopped up the stairs of the streetcar, and thought about how the 24 hour flu, was the end result of the fight. My body danced too much, and I had zero rhythm left in me.

There’s comfort to be found in the middle of the dance floor, and we misunderstood the DJ. He didn’t say, “We let things run their course, you ran your course!” But that’s what we heard. The lovers are fighting outside of the bar,
she pushes him, he kisses her.
You call a cab, take off your boots, and drop them on the floor of your doorway along with your house keys, and this song echoes as you creep each foot so delicately on your bedroom floor.

“I just needed something pretty to look at”



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