spectators at a silent disco

we find ourself spectators at a silent disco, bodies writhing around us to melodies only heard from flashing headphones.

we don’t participate, only listen to the screams and shouts and watch out-of-synch mosh pits attempt to coordinate in the quiet Santa Monica Pier night. Women in the DJ booth gyrate next to the big plastic palm tree, the glow colors our gaze as we make our way to the outskirts, realizing

everything looks different from the outside.

from the outside, we are acquaintances, friends even, enjoying a night under the stars.

when we put on our own headphones, the songs we hear are the rooftop secrets whispered on lawn chairs under the stars, our beats the echoes of beer pong (me winning, I went to USC after all) and the sizzle of the grill as we cook and talk about how today what we’re doing today will get us to tomorrow.

we dance to the rhythm of our hopes, dreams, fears — unsure what we are or what we will be, but content in sharing our space on the dance floor with each other, for however long the dance ends up.

eventually, we may be able to take off our headphones and turn up our music. for now, we’re just spectators at a silent disco — because then, if the music just stops it’s as if it never existed to begin with.

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