So take me dancing tonight, I've been all on my own.

It must’ve been dark magic.

Why else would anyone, why else could anyone, put up with the torture?

He changed his mind about me as often as I change my mind about him. In that sense, we were in sync; we were as fickle as rain, restless. I’d wake up in the middle of the night wanting to see him so badly, sometimes. This happens when we go cold turkey on each other. It could be months, before we heard from or of each other. But no, I wouldn’t say we were lost.

I’d be a scavenger, hungry for any kind of information on him. It was like that. I need to feed. I’m not sure what it was like for him - but i knew he must’ve craved me dearly too. It was like that, our addiction.

For almost two years, we danced on the possibility of everything being impossible. I like impossible, it hurt, so much. But i liked it. I replayed it over and over in my head the pain he caused. The unnecessary information he loves feeding me with. The idea that I would never be enough for him was always a wretch to deal with, yet it keeps me sharp. It kills me yet it drives me. And it penetrates every little fibre in me. It makes me so goddamn hungry.

I never understood the attraction. I never understood our warped dynamics. Yet, I found comfort in his bastardy.

We danced, like this, a long time after we promised to stop. Sometimes i stick my leg out to trip him a little. I’d laugh with glee when he stumbles. Sometimes he spins me in and holds me close. Sometimes he throws me across the floor. I’d wait. And if he doesn’t help me up, I’d charged towards his back and he would always, always turn in time to the beat, just to catch me.

I was convinced that this is something I wanted to be a part of, a show of my commitment to my lover. “I accept you and cherish you, as whatever you are and I’ll always know you,” I thought. But the tempo changed. So did the entire choreography.

There were always other dancers. It is, after all, an entire production. They come and go. Some were beautiful. They provided flavour, they shook things up, they pranced and strutted. Some were too great, even. But it was never really about them. They were merely tools, that made us realise even more how much we needed to manifest ourselves even deeper within each other.

It’s the demons, that i could never cope with, his demons, on stage. His demons, backstage, his demons, waiting, like a raging temptress, always slinking around. You can’t let go of demons that easily.

We were in mid-air, you, struggling to hold me up and me, struggling to keep poised; we’re still dancing. We couldn’t begin yet there we were, we still couldn’t end. The lights were dimming.

Your grip, wavering.

I wriggled, let my body go. Fell to floor. I took a bow.

I exited, stage right.

Stage Right.

I’m going to be alright.