Dance of Me

I dance like I’ll never dance again.
I twist time in my fingers,

Tangle the world in my steps,

And scatter my dreams on the floor.

I dance like I’ll never dance again.

Something inside me answered a call—
A current I couldn't name.
Everything felt perfect…
except me.

The world faded into its own slow storm,
Held by the ghost of time already passed.
Nothing in it ever lasts.

With every move, a new color spills.
Music hums from the raindrops,
Songs fall soft from the clouds—
And all of them whisper:
Dance… like you never will again.

“I dance like I’ll never dance again…”
That line isn’t about celebration —
It’s about desperation.
A moment where I feel something calling me,
not to a stage or spotlight,
but back to myself.

I write this poem from a place where I feel completely out of sync.
The world moves forward — but I don’t.
Time moves around me — but I can't feel its rhythm.
So I start to dance — not with joy,
but with a need to break through something.

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“I twist time in my fingers,

Tangle the world in my steps,
And scatter my dreams on the floor…”

When I dance in this poem,
I’m not really dancing to music.
I’m dancing against life.
I try to control time, distort it,
because it feels like it controls everything else.

I tangle with the world like it’s a fabric I want to tear.
And as I move, I let my dreams fall —
not carefully, but like broken glass I no longer have strength to hold.

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“Something inside me answered a call—

A current I couldn't name.
Everything felt perfect… except me.”

There are moments when everything around me looks okay.
The sky is calm. The noise is distant.
But inside?
It’s like something is knocking —
not asking me to come alive,
but reminding me that I’m not.

I’m not present.
I’m not okay.
And that ache for wholeness…
That’s the current I can’t name.

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“The world faded into its own slow storm,

Held by the ghost of time already passed.
Nothing in it ever lasts.”

This is how depression sometimes feels to me —
like the world is happening, but behind glass.
Everything is slow, like in a dream,
but I’m awake — and I can’t touch anything.
Time becomes this haunting ghost:
You had it. You lost it. It’s gone.
And you keep walking in a world
that’s already let go of you.

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“With every move, a new color spills.

Music hums from the raindrops,
Songs fall soft from the clouds—
And all of them whisper:
Dance… like you never will again.”

This is the moment where emotion spills out.
Where I stop caring about rhythm, or control, or who’s watching.
I just let go.

And in that letting go,
even nature joins me.
The raindrops become my orchestra.
The sky sings, not loudly — but enough.
It’s like the universe tells me,
“Just be here. Just feel it. This moment might never come back.”

And so, I dance.
Like I never will again.
Not because it’s beautiful —
but because it’s true.

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