I stomp until the memories of this hard week beg for mercy beneath my feet. I sway until the clinging sadness gives up and falls away. I punch the air until my frustration is splattered across the ceiling like invisible neon paint.
Leeron, almost from the beginning, I thought—this is how youth feels. You’ve touched that rhythm too, I can feel it, even though it’s been almost thirty years since it pulsed through me like that. That giddy blur of boots, kisses, steam, sweat, and music too loud for words. You caught that moment exactly where it lives—between movement and mischief, held by nothing except the beat and someone else’s grin. You let it. That’s the kind of story that stays charged long after the lights go back up.
Leeron, almost from the beginning, I thought—this is how youth feels. You’ve touched that rhythm too, I can feel it, even though it’s been almost thirty years since it pulsed through me like that. That giddy blur of boots, kisses, steam, sweat, and music too loud for words. You caught that moment exactly where it lives—between movement and mischief, held by nothing except the beat and someone else’s grin. You let it. That’s the kind of story that stays charged long after the lights go back up.