Tonight, I drank, and I danced. Danced in tranquil turmoil, immersed in a glorious muddle of don’tgiveafuckery, and for the first time in a long time, I lost myself in simple motion. It felt so. Fucking. Good. Me and the beat and the bassline and people near but far. The simple happiness of movement for the sake of movement, for no other reason than it felt good. I needed this.
I probably looked ridiculous, an old bastard swivelling spastically amidst a crowd of 20-somethings, but I didn’t care. For a short while, I felt sheer joy, and it made my future path so obvious it seems inevitable.
I miss her.