{"id":44958,"title":"Dancing Darlings","description":"Dancing Darlings","content":"

<\/p>

\"xxmlj6ucmmxznf4zb0jqneviphmstkngghncgqvstrx0azpj.jpg.jpg?w=1140&v=2\"In the contratiempo, I miss me.<\/p>

Not you, the me you knew,<\/p>

the me that slipped past<\/p>

without noticing tables, corners, edges.<\/p>

My elbow catches a table I didn\u2019t move,<\/p>

and I think: I am still here.<\/p>

A spoon tilts in the mug<\/p>

and almost catches my eye.<\/p>

How small these things feel<\/p>

until they are the loudest.<\/p>

The way I miss you<\/p>

in the small noises I make,<\/p>

the ones you no longer hear.<\/p>

The kitchen is too small.<\/p>

Every movement is a negotiation.<\/p>

The knife nudges the counter,<\/p>

a soft clang that startles me;<\/p>

the pan tilts slightly on the hob,<\/p>

and I realise I am holding myself up<\/p>

more than the countertop.<\/p>

\"anjjkcnsk0sv56it8k76idfgta9uxb1swbvehd8eyllgtraq.jpg.jpg?w=1140&v=2\"If goodbyes are life\u2019s punctuation,<\/p>

then ours is the ellipsis,<\/p>

the kind that doesn\u2019t signal an end<\/p>

but a hesitation,<\/p>

a space swollen with things unsaid.<\/p>

It\u2019s not a neat, tidy full stop;<\/p>

it\u2019s the pause when you\u2019re not quite sure.<\/p>

There\u2019s a generosity in that kind of silence,<\/p>

a kind of kindness that says,<\/p>

\u201cI\u2019m not closing the door,<\/p>

but I\u2019m not stepping through it either.\u201d<\/p>

It\u2019s where memories wait<\/p>

and where you can still feel the pressure of presence,<\/p>

even in absence.<\/p>

And maybe that\u2019s the thing about goodbyes,<\/p>

sometimes they\u2019re less about leaving<\/p>

and more about holding on,<\/p>

not tightly,<\/p>

but just enough<\/p>

to know what you had<\/p>

doesn\u2019t vanish the moment you stop speaking.<\/p>

So ours is a goodbye that stays,<\/p>

a soft space<\/p>

that doesn\u2019t rush to finish<\/p>

but lingers,<\/p>

waiting,<\/p>

maybe hoping<\/p>

for more to be said.<\/p>

\"r6eoipqsmictpsfv1gke1pfbzv3o11o64dzobzknaublnjqs.jpg.jpg?w=1140&v=2\"Colours don\u2019t ask permission.<\/p>

They burst through the long, dark winters<\/p>

like a rebellion,<\/p>

pushing against the heavy grey depressions.<\/p>

Wearing bright colours in the dead of winter<\/p>

is its own kind of resistance, isn\u2019t it?<\/p>

Like stepping out and saying,<\/p>

\u201cHere I am, and I refuse to blend in with the dullness.\u201d<\/p>

Where the world seems to fold into itself,<\/p>

muted and cold,<\/p>

the colours flare up,<\/p>

brash, unapologetic, stubborn.<\/p>

There\u2019s a kind of nerve to it,<\/p>

a boldness in choosing to be colourful, beautiful.<\/p>

It\u2019s less about vanity<\/p>

and more about survival,<\/p>

because when everything outside feels so dead,<\/p>

wrapping yourself in something vivid<\/p>

becomes a way to hold on,<\/p>

to spark some life<\/p>

where there\u2019s supposed to be none.<\/p>

Colours are the insurgents of the season,<\/p>

refusing to be swallowed by the long night,<\/p>

reminding us\u2014without words\u2014<\/p>

that life doesn\u2019t pause,<\/p>

even when everything else seems to freeze.<\/p>

\"qjx5aoz6enbsp1vavlls8kvzmj80kqoyqc6itmkggrhjbn25.jpg.jpg?w=1140&v=2\"Can a book look sad?<\/p>

Am i saved by another\u2019s tongue,<\/p>

clumsy, like dancing darlings.<\/p>

That\u2019s how the words come sometimes,<\/p>

not smooth or practiced,<\/p>

but tripping over themselves.<\/p>

The language is tangled, unsure,<\/p>

fumbling for connection,<\/p>

but it\u2019s still a lifeline.<\/p>

Because when you speak with someone else\u2019s voice,<\/p>

when your own tongue is uncertain,<\/p>

there\u2019s a strange kind of salvation.<\/p>

i am saved by the willingness<\/p>

to keep trying,<\/p>

to be clumsy together.<\/p>","urlTitle":"dancing-darlings","url":"\/blog\/dancing-darlings\/","editListUrl":"\/my-blogs","editUrl":"\/my-blogs\/edit\/dancing-darlings\/","fullUrl":"https:\/\/lostcampitos.com\/blog\/dancing-darlings\/","featured":false,"published":true,"showOnSitemap":true,"hidden":false,"visibility":null,"createdAt":1734135926,"updatedAt":1762385210,"publishedAt":1762385209,"lastReadAt":null,"division":{"id":209850,"name":"Lost Campitos"},"tags":[],"metaImage":{"original":"https:\/\/images.podos.io\/ikmbxrmd0fsoikeaboimw5tfbyhul2twxmhiwmvpsfunrj7x.jpeg","thumbnail":"https:\/\/images.podos.io\/ikmbxrmd0fsoikeaboimw5tfbyhul2twxmhiwmvpsfunrj7x.jpeg.jpg?w=1140&h=855","banner":"https:\/\/images.podos.io\/ikmbxrmd0fsoikeaboimw5tfbyhul2twxmhiwmvpsfunrj7x.jpeg.jpg?w=1920&h=1440"},"metaTitle":"","metaDescription":"","keyPhraseCampaignId":null,"series":[],"similarReads":[{"id":35260,"title":"I Cried in a Museum","url":"\/blog\/i-cried-in-a-museum\/","urlTitle":"i-cried-in-a-museum","division":209850,"description":"Visual art and poetry by Matteo Delred.","published":true,"metaImage":{"thumbnail":"https:\/\/images.podos.io\/jefnsaqkzkapvtinjson1luqln7xpafcddl05cmrem3whxno.jpeg.jpg?w=1140&h=855","banner":"https:\/\/images.podos.io\/jefnsaqkzkapvtinjson1luqln7xpafcddl05cmrem3whxno.jpeg.jpg?w=1920&h=1440"},"hidden":0},{"id":42436,"title":"I Can Dance But I Won't","url":"\/blog\/can-dance-wont\/","urlTitle":"can-dance-wont","division":209850,"description":"by Matteo Delred","published":true,"metaImage":{"thumbnail":"https:\/\/images.podos.io\/gblp3ap3s8d1fugnffqa6gbszz0kcqndkftcpp9vkyh0cuie.jpeg.jpg?w=1140&h=855","banner":"https:\/\/images.podos.io\/gblp3ap3s8d1fugnffqa6gbszz0kcqndkftcpp9vkyh0cuie.jpeg.jpg?w=1920&h=1440"},"hidden":0},{"id":46095,"title":"Half And Then Half Again","url":"\/blog\/half-and-then-half-again\/","urlTitle":"half-and-then-half-again","division":209850,"description":"Visual Arts and poetry project by Matteo Delred.","published":true,"metaImage":{"thumbnail":"https:\/\/images.podos.io\/b7u8xrswv16jxac8ouowh5prgf3ahcxyelgtvepw5cw4dzud.jpeg.jpg?w=1140&h=855","banner":"https:\/\/images.podos.io\/b7u8xrswv16jxac8ouowh5prgf3ahcxyelgtvepw5cw4dzud.jpeg.jpg?w=1920&h=1440"},"hidden":0}],"labels":[]}