About Tragedy

I'm flying in my mind, dancing to this week's theme song. I pirouette, leap, throw my head back, and slide into a split. I am dancing by myself, something both apt and ironic.

"Boycott love - detox just to retox."

I am strong and exultant, hitting hard with the bass and spinning with the guitar. I am celebrating and I am mourning. (It will be okay if it fizzles and it will be okay if it catches fire.)

I relive his arms around me, warm and strong, but then I chassé away. ("What a match: I'm half-doomed and you're semi-sweet.") He is the present reason for my dance, but he cannot dance with me. He is just one of many who have been unable to keep up.

*Boom Boom Boom-ba-boom-boom*

*Boom Boom Boom-ba-boom-boom*

*Boom Boom Boom-ba-boom-boom*

"Detox just to retox."

"Detox just to retox."

"Detox just to retox."

"Boycott love."

"Boycott love."

I leap.

(Do I land?)