When it all falls apart, they dance.

The wind, the trees. The lightning bugs make their silent fireworks as the last of the evening birds sing a farewell tune. The moon plays the shy girl in the corner, waiting for someone to ask her to dance, but that’s only how she wishes to appear. Truly, I think she’s content to dance alone, knowing only she can keep it all from falling to pieces.

Nevertheless, neither she or I seem to be bothering the festivities. Because when it all falls apart, still they dance.

Sometimes I wish to shout and protest. How can you all keep dancing like the world isn’t slipping through my fingers? I want to curse the moon for her apathy to my troubles, but my, does she have moxie. Though underneath the fuel of petulance, I silently weep and wipe my own tears as I admire the notion that when it all falls apart, they dance.

-Halie Currie