The sweat is lavitating on your skin, fresh and cold at the same time. The step is quick and exhaustingly excited like the beat. It feels like you have just come out of the gym. The dose of endormorphin pumps inside your arteries as heartlessly as it cannot.
This feeling you cannot name but you can deny not. You tread through the rain and although sun is there to be seen it feels like some great miracle. You wonder what is happening with your tornado of your hair. When you return there is one stare of yours wet-stamped on a surprised mirror. And then you come to wonder where did the beauty come from? Did some evil wind call for it while you were dance-struggling through drops of water and frizzy traffic?
The more stabbs you receive on the fabric of your recently tanned body of a doll it seems the more you think it is everyday life to be moved by some out-of-country force. It is definately not of out of this planet. It is unaware of its power and yet it slides within you despite your layers of clothes.
Give me another stab because it feels so great to be hurt.My fabric of dress is not ordinary. And of course I am addressing myself.
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