dancing on my own
I kept dancing to her, to a rhythm I grew up alongside with- a rhythm and lyrics my mother’s past only served to emphasize on the power of perseverance, of empowerment… But on and on I danced, entranced by the disco balls and silver streamers shaping that small dance room, the glitter that swayed on the floor as our feet improvised with what I recall was a mix of disco and a waltz. And I sang. I sang with every molecule of my sweaty and energetic body. I sang and turned and swayed and marked your soft brown eyes as my focal point- my compass. Those eyes… Those brown eyes and their sight of my free spirit manifesting and unraveling itself in front of you through karaoke car rides, through ice cream nights and their overload of sprinkles, through the sight of me moisturizing your face every night before bed, through your excitement in letting you decide which cereals to add to our shopping cart... To that afternoon, inside the House of Yes- dancing and singing to Gloria Gaynor.