Recuerdos del Baile

It's five in the morning, and sleep is still somewhere in another dimension. The hands are spinning, and so are my thoughts. The sky outside is graying, and with it, regret becomes clear: perhaps I shouldn't have entered that door, where the air smelled of wine, music, and the beginning of something too alive. The memory box is open again - blue ties, yellow dresses, laughter a little louder than normal, and an awkward dance that now, for some reason, stings.

Some nites you just had to sleep thru. But who would refuse the light if it promised to be the sun, even for a couple of hours? Now it's all over, and all that's left is to whisper in a half-sleep: "Maybe it would have been better not to come in."