She kissed me. And she was wearing black lipstick.

I danced like it was the song that said my name. I danced like it was my personal soundtrack. I danced like yesterday got left behind.

I would catch people watching as I danced on the platform next to the stair case under the speaker. I caught him clear across the bar. I caught them with their arms around each other. I caught her and she glanced down, pretending or posing or just plain shy.

I am powerful alone. I am a self-proclaimed introvert. Not to be confused with socially inept, just drawing my energy from being on my own. Actual interaction with people often leaves me exhausted.

And there were people, lots of people at the Saturday nite Hollywood Goth club. But I was alone. I came alone and I would leave alone.

But I think I wished for a partner. A co-director of physical energies. A Clyde to my Bonnie. A gentleman to walk me to my car.

People appreciate, but no one understands me, mostly. Though I thrive on an audience, always aware of who's attention is tilted in my direction, though I love, too, to myself, watch self-expressed ghouls move, I most want a partner. Someone to dance with me who can dance with me who knows what it means to dance with someone who isn't pretending or posing or just plain shy.

I will do none. Where is my lover? But a dank dungeon without a sparkle.

People stared all nite. I wore her black lipstick outside the lines.

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