The Love of the Essence
The lipstick held tight to her lips.
The dreams and passion held tight to her mind.
She promised herself that her thoughts would not leave her.
That she’d get them all on some sort of paper that she could retrieve and not leave her.
They danced through the music as if it were themselves…
Danced passed and through each other like ghosts.
Feathers and sweat falling to the ground.
Not making a sound.
But seen by the ones who saw.
And lived by the ones who saw life.
She had hoped no one could see her eyes,
teared up from across the room.
Or that no one would suddenly speak,
needing the audience of her face.
She wanted to reach out, not to their clothing or experience.
But to their soul, to their feelings that lived in her.
They kicked almost close to her face.
She assumed she was a ghost as well,
and their feet would pass through her presence.
Nothing could fathom the love of the essence.