"Dance quietly or they might hear you," she didn't know why she thought things like this when there was no one to hear her at all. The house was quiet and squeaked with every step of her loneliness. She didn't know what it felt like to dance in time with someone else and she'd tell anyone who asked she didn't care to, and that was partly true. She supposed she'd might of if she wasn't so caught up—left—right—she twirled across the kitchen, and wondered what they'd think of her now. Mostly the same thing they used to, she imagined. Loneliness and lunacy—she hardly saw the difference most nights. Left—right.
