She double checks the lock
On the bathroom door
And twirls again
Like she did on that dance floor,
Her prince in her arms.
A thousand flashing lights
Turning the world into hundreds
Of still-images, a flip book.
Music drumming the floorboards
Begging her feet to dance, jump, spin
Anything but stand still.
So she doesn’t—
She dances barefoot in front of the mirror,
Loving her own beauty—
Loving her own grace.
And when the fantasy fades away
She pauses in front of her reflection,
Lost in a bitter-sweet ending.
All nights must strike midnight—
Nothing will last past the bell.
And it has already rung.
--Megan
--Megan
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