Constant Revolution

He extends his hand. The smell of powder and shot cling to his sleeve even in his formal attire. 

“Do you wish to dance?” he asks.

I look at him, his brilliant green eyes holding me in a lover’s embrace. His hair falls in curls and terraces framing his face.

“What is the point? You are leaving. Your precious revolution awaits. The people’s captain surely has no time for the courts and dignitaries of Versailles.”

He smiles and my resolve is consumed in the curve of his lips.

“Tomorrow I belong to France but tonight, in this moment, I am yours.” 

I take his hand and as if whisked away from those around us we are alone on the dance floor. 

I pull him close to me and feel the warmth of his body. I want him. More than anything this empty, pitiful world could offer. So pure, so perfect. I would hate myself for the rest of my nights if I did this. I could have him. And he would hate me for it in return. 

No tears, no tears. 

I absorb him into my skin. His touch, his smell. I was warned. It would come to me as to all of us. I fought it for so long but now it creeps into my mind. My fixation. My consumption. 

“I want this dance to never end,” I speak so softly I wonder if he even hears me. 

“Aurora,” he says my name and I know I never want to hear it spoken by any other ever again.

“You need to leave.” I say. “Now. Before I can’t let you go.”

He slowly pushes me away. I look into those eyes but the smile is gone. He steps back. 

No tears, no tears. 

He turns and walks away. Leaving me among the whirling bodies. He steps out of sight and in my heart I know I will never see him again.

There I stand in a room full of souls, so alone.

And on that floor I fall to pieces.