I sometimes watch videos on YouTube and envisage people in dance clubs giving themselves over to the mood of the moment. People in transparent ecstasy, caring not a jot what they look like to the outside world.
I could never do that. Part of me always had to remain apart, restraining the heart, pulling me up sharp if I overdid submission to the senseless senses. Ever the observer and the observed in one being.
Is that a shame? I wouldn’t know. I’m not qualified to judge.
And there’s a heavy, sweet scent in my living room. I wonder where it's coming from. Some ghost or other, I expect.