That excitement when you have something dear to yourself, something yours; you are about to tell the whole world your stories. It’s like dancing at the end of the world and not afraid to fall; all possible risks seem within your grip..
The moment when you realise that those things are not yours yet (or will never be), that excitement changes to deep regret and disappointment. Things you can’t have even if they are on the palm of your hands. Things you can’t keep even if they are already inside your pockets.
You value things that aren’t yours. How painful can it be? Dancing gracefully in scattered glasses and thorns, each step bleeds, you can’t stop dancing cause the song won’t stop playing. It is a matter of respect to keep dancing while the song is playing. You can’t attend to the wounds and helplessly waiting for someone to put a patch on them. And keep dancing. There is a hole inside a soul. A soul put inside a dancing ghost. And a dancing ghost dances, along sorrowful beats.
You are the keeper of stories. Keeper to others’ stories. And yours? Who tell yours? You are so busy dancing to others’ songs that you forget to play your own?
A dancing ghost shall dance. Because there are stories to tell. A dancingghost cannot be selfish, cause she is a ghost. No one care about a ghost. Unless the ghost stop dancing. And people start wondering. When the ghost plays her own songs, people start to freak out. Because she isa ghost and no one likes ghost. And the ghost doesn’t like to scare people. So she starts to dance again.
Slowly getting used to the lament. And abandon her own merriment.
She is exhausted. She no longer believes. The faith has long gone, making her heart bears the most unbearable damage.
A dancing ghost decides to disappear. Her existence bear no significance nor importance. She now dances towards the death of her soul. For it to look alive is the smile she carves full of lies.
Her eyes tell thousands stories yet no one ever notice her worries. Her tears dry and her mouth sings lies. Her lips smile yet her heart dies.
A dancing ghost dances to the death of her soul. With her hands over her eyes so no stories shall be told.
A dancing ghost is tired.