Time to sing in my own empty space.
I have only inklings of an idea what that really means to others. I have decided it means something to me. I've read a little bit and found a lot of feeling there I am intimately familiar with; things I say so often to myself and my lovers and my peers already.
It's a little bit nakedly NSFW, a little bit openly celebrating things that tend to alienate people who are not familiar with me. It's also a lot of emotion, and dreaming, and healing.
This is my space, my empty place, and it is all for me. I share it in the hopes that one day some may find it and decide they'd like to sing with me, but that is not the purpose of all this.
The real purpose is to journal, to contemplate, to revel in my own secret way. It will be cryptic and without filter. It may be annoying or unpleasant for others to see.
Regardless, I'm going to dance, unblushing.
None of this matters. None of me matters. None of anything matters.
Here, I am naked and without shame. If there are eyes upon me, I hardly pay them mind. In my thoughts there is room enough for a song, and little else for now.
It will all be Dust in the end. I am the luckiest kind of thing in the world to be able to wonder and wander.
The dimly-lit floor I trample has nothing on me.
The space does not care, and I am swallowed whole by darkness.
I don't mind. I'm just glad I got to Be.
A dark place, the only light my own brim, is filled with the sounds of stamping feet and creaking wood. I twist and spin and swing my limbs through air colder than Death.
I feel confined but only overhead, careful not to jump too high. The walls seem so far away..
There is not a precious morsel in my body. Every last drop I have to give is nothing to the space around me, which would just as soon erase me as ignore me.
It's disintegrating, annihilating.
I think I'm in love.