dancing alone

 "write drunk, revise sober"

I'm walking down the streets of Brooklyn on my own. The taste of Tequila from the past four nights of partying still lingers on my lips. I'm not too sure if I'm hungover, still a little high, or just tired - who would have thought that partying could be more tiring than work?

It's my last night in New York City. My friends have flown to Miami. I wish I could join them but unfortunately, I have to head home for work tomorrow. 

I have spent a total of five days alone on this trip. Traveling alone is an entirely different experience. It is liberating, it makes you feel pretty darn invincible, and yet it reminds you how alone you are in this world. 

Since eighteen, I've almost always had a companion to do life with. It's nice. To have someone to share everything with, to feel like you have an anchor. But it comes with its own set of anxieties and frustrations.

I've been learning to dance alone. It's scary but exhilarating. You are the author of your own story. And the people you meet become mere experiences. They come and go, leaving paragraphs in your novel. Maybe that's how life is supposed to be - nothing more than an experience. 

And then, there's that thin line between euphoria and hysteria when you're alone in your head. One moment you're soaking in the grandeur of the Manhattan skyline, and the next, your head is reeling from the profound pointlessness of life. It's a funny thing, I must say.

Nonetheless, I'll keep dancing. At least I've stopped wishing for this dance to end.

Now, would you like to dance alone, with me?