Can I even write fiction? How do I have such a good imagination everywhere else but not making stories. People are impossible to create they’re too complicated.

I feel like I don’t even have anymore to contribute. Maybe I don’t. Maybe I’m finally out.

She opened and shut her eyes a few times. That was different.

She walked through the door and lights. Music. Dancing. Fun! She closed her eyes and let the bright dancing party lights run all over her body. And she felt them. Playful and colorful with the promise of a fun time.

She walks over to the bar but doesn’t drink. She wants to take in the moment with all her senses first. She sits at the bar. Warming up to her environment. Beautiful fun chaos. Edm club. She could feel the happiness returning to her cheeks. The vibrations were everywhere. Movement everywhere. She never wanted to leave. Please don’t send me back. We’ll live here and dance forever.