He never really lied, he said,
just never turned on the lights
to their unspoken truths.
The dancer told him his songs
sounded so true to her, she
made him swear they coalesced
from next to nothing.
He confessed they spilled from
a dark place he dreamed nightly,
where a make-believe dancehall ball
scattered images like snowflakes
that would melt in the light of day.
The singer longed for just one dance,
but the dancer held fast to her darkness,
there in the chairs along the wall,
where she waited to hear each
new song. His lies and all.
A free write from this morning. I can’t figure it out, so I’ll leave that to you. Photo: Disco Ball in Blue by Sarah from Brizzzzzle.