Stories…

It’s a Friday afternoon and the room is quiet but full.

Bodies move with ease slowly through the space.

Eyes looking ahead, remembering.

It’s Friday afternoon in Preston, but we could be anywhere.

Bodies push forward, onwards, endlessly.

They pass others as if they’re there / not there.

Whispers of words dance around the space as the mass moves on.

Eyes open.

Whispers of books & places & performances & objects & memories.

The bodies slowly shake their hips, hands raise, smiles form on the lips, toes tap, shoulders relax, and eyes gently close.

A swarm of silent bodies lost in dance in a room in Preston.

The distant sound of California seeps into the veins as The Beach Boys beats start to kick in.

We are lost.  We are dancing in California.  We do not want to come home.

We are lost.  Lost in a memory.  Lost in a dance.

A dance of love.  A dance of hope.  A dance to the future.  A dance to the past.

We do not want to come home.

We do not want to come home.

*Dance with eyes closed*

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s