The dance of my friend.

“Come stand near it’s motionless body tonight,
And you will feel what standing in the middle of the strangest sea that you can create in your mind
And not worrying about drowning in it feels like.”
~
If there is anything more disturbed than my instinct this evening,
It is the dance of my friend who never fails at murdering my words.

It is helpless.

The half-dead trees
That used to sway with my lips
Are dancing with it in front of my eyes.
The hearts of the clouds above me
That used to change colours with the ink on my hands
Are about to fall down because of how heavy they’ve become,
Now that my hands are always clean.

But my friend won’t let the hearts fall into my arms.
My friend will take them away and
Then gift them to the sea
Because the sea is who made it dance.
So, the hearts are breaking
Into tiny, colourless droplets of glass.
They think they’re safe but they will break apart
When my friend takes away my words
And the ink is thrown into another sea, somewhere far.

My friend, I’m afraid, is not itself.
Tonight, the wind, is not itself.
~
I’m losing my breath as I am losing words
But I can’t stop the wind,
For the wind is not itself tonight and
Unsurprisingly, it is not alone.

I won’t stop the wind,
Because letting it take my breath away
Feels easier than taking it away on my own.
~
We’re both dancing now.
We’re dancing hand in hand
But to someone else’s whistle,
Someone else’s music
Above a strange sea that exists in our mind,
In which, everything that stands still,
Drowns.

Words, ink and hearts of the clouds
Drowned when they couldn’t dance with the wind.
They were waiting to discover their own music but
They are too late and
Too lost under still objects and stiller minds now.

I, however, am afraid of everything that I have seen.
I can’t stand still.
The sea looks very deep.
So, I choose to dance with my helpless friend.
I choose to dance with the wind
Who doesn’t mind not being itself and
Who doesn’t know that dancing to
It’s own music is easier than worrying about drowning in the sea.
So, I let it be.
~
The wind has been whistling with me
And the whistle sounds new.
It will stop making everyone else dance with it,
But bodies who listen to their instincts are only a few.
We’re still dancing, hand in hand,
The wind is itself and
Unsurprisingly, I am too.

Words, ink and hearts of the clouds
Are standing near our bodies.
We’re all a little still,
A little weary, a little bemused
But immensely happy
For we’ve found our music.
The sea doesn’t look that deep anymore,
And my instinct is no more disturbed.
It wants me to scream and
Tell the world not to worry
For “The sea doesn’t really exist.”
Does it?