“The Dancers” by Oliver Ray
Never miss a chance to dance. When I go, I want to go dancing. I want my heart rate up and my body electrified with movement and life, my ears pounding with the pulse of music, my hands clasped with those of my partners, dancing in a circle that symbolizes eternity and unity and brotherhood. I define life in the way that the notes, like fingers, strum at my heartstrings, taut and clean like those of a mandolin. I move with the fluidity of a beat that is ageless, echoing in every step, in every flicker of the mouth or the eye, in every handclasp. I breathe against the delighted shriek of the violin, the gurgling laugh of the bouzouki, the thumping nods of the drum, the seductive whispers of the flute. The pulse of the music kisses my skin and lifts the enchantment of normalcy and routine, and I shatter into a thousand pieces of light and love that dance and move, entrapped in the net of my skin, these cells buzzing and glowing like a cloud of fallen stars.