My desk vibrates as I write. I mean it vibrates in a real way – there is a wedding party the floor below, in our basement, our 120 square meter space, the wedding party of a couple which is friends with my love. They dance, it is very informal, it is a lot, and they party hard.
Uranus wandered exactly on my IC these days, and he is a surprise. He is me, I am him, when I am true to my core.
I danced, too, at the wedding party the floor below, and when I dance, I own in my body all the dances I had, ever.
The dance in the club far off in the countryside three a.m. when I was fifteen, I had summer holidays, my parents were away, and I stayed with my BFF, who was nineteen at the time.
The dance at parties, so many parties. (I partied hard in this time.)
The dance in a club where I went to with people I did not know very well, and my soon-to-be-boyfriend was with them (He was one of the bad guys, but of course the best, because certainly not boring, choice).
The dance at the party of my then-BFF where I met my sooner amour fou, and we danced, and we made out, and we both never forgot this very night, we began our affair eight years later. (I ended this six-year affair five years and two days ago, I remember exactly the day and the time and everything, and I still remember the agony, the worst heartsickness of my life – and I had a handful, believe me – like I had chopped off one of my limbs, and there is still a very few days I do not think of him one way or the other.)
The dances naked at some pagan events, dancing naked around the fire, the drums, the dance, the dance, the gods…
When we had our summer party in our backyard two years ago, I thought that I will never again enjoy parties like the ones I attended, no more wild stuff, not the friends, not the coven, to do it anymore.
But it does not matter.
When I dance, I own all my dances.
I own my core.
It is my core which is wild.
He owns it, my cells remember, he never forgets.
My cells remember.