One immeasurable piece of time.
Often, that’s all we have.
And she looked at him and said "I want to dance with you like you're the Devil and I've been doing it all my life."
We’re all caught in our loops. Walking, talking, breathing.
Does it really ever register?
Do we even know what we belong to?
So he took her hand and led her inside. He made sharp moves, swift turns. Like an artist spraying his mind over canvas. The red from her clothes filled the floor like oil poured out to be set on fire.
Norms and rules of society.
Do we really want to adhere to them?
Can't we see what they make us miss?
And he looked at her and said “You just danced with the Devil like you’ve been doing it all your life... all your life...”
How much longer do we really have?
Will we see our souls burn out?
I don’t think we can ever really know.
We've been doing it all our lives.