I like that feeling in my belly, when I really want to dance. Like walking on the sidewalk and a good tune comes on or when I’m in the gym and I just can’t help bobbing and moving, gyrating, not even walking but holding back my moves as I walk-dance across the floor.

I want to explore that feeling more. Give in to it a bit more. Where I still feel safe but more free. Because if I saw someone enjoying themself I would gravitate towards them

Dance more & dance more freely.

Don’t waste time on men you know you’d have to train to love you right. If he’s got less emotional intelligence than your dog, leave him (regardless of what that mouth do).

I like when I get a new pen and I have to remove that little wax ball. I like pressing on it and causing a commotion and then on my page spilleth an ocean of letters to paint my thoughts for your consumption, for your attention. For you to see and understand.

Dancing is for me. It’s for no one to see and understand. It’s for me to release the energy in my body. It’s joyful movement. It’s like surfing a cacophony of bliss, it’s like roaring beneath a kiss, it’s the playful creature in me that can’t be contained. It’s a direct drip from the life force, from the power of my essence, from my soul. I rarely speak of my soul because I doubt if I have one, but if I do, I love the bellyache of blissful release that comes from dancing. From erupting in my moves and grooving just to grove.

I’m still blanketed by my darkness, my anhedonia, my melancholy. But how sweet it was last night and this morning to feel something light, something in my body, my call to move. An urge so powerful like a kiss of fresh air to my lips. New life. A momentary reprieve.