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Robyn • Dancing On My Own
The night before had moments when the beat on the dance floor infused your body with strong currents. Of electricity or a bright blue liquid full of energy or power. You were a force. Secretly you knew that inside there was a knot. A feeling of scathe, anger and mourn. A sense of deprecation and void. You pushed that aside. By the larger-than-life speaker. Eardrums might have just burst into nothingness and feet worn out from repetitive motions. Faux freedom. Actually, no. It wasn’t pretend. It was freedom at its best. People around were faking exhilaration. But you were the one. Alone. Raging. Dancing. And so very alive.