Amidst all the noise, all the crowd and all that hypocrisy, I saw you and I saw a cigarette fall.

Boys getting drunk, dirty dancing, sex on the floor.

Fake smiles, fake body language, fake accents, fake laughs and fake opinions.

All to get laid.

Coiled in a small corner, I smoke, smoke away and just watch.  Watch all the gay men dance. Closeted or not, they are all out there bold and loud, to get what (or who) they want. It definitely wasn’t a night where any man would be closeted… unless it involved sneaking into a closet with someone, of course. No divides. No fear.

The cigarette, now burnt out, is let go. I drop it down the balcony twelve floors high. I watch it fall, attentively. It is desperate to keep burning itself and prolong its life for a little more. I see a spark at the seventh floor, a failed attempt. Then a few more, just before it touches the wet muddy ground. The smoldering cigarette butt reaches its destination and just fizzles off.

I look inside again; you know he isn’t worth it. You don’t know why you are doing this. But you just are. You are dancing, rubbing your thighs against his. You are smiling at him and trying to look raunchy. I can see right through your fake smile. How can he not see it? How can you not see yourself? You’re losing yourself, in all this noise and blur. If you could only see, you’re worth so much more.

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Sayuri - a small flower of Lilly, lover of languages. Advocate of sustainable and safe menstruation, co-founder of 'The Project Amara'. Fond of all the artistic things; flowers, poetry, stars, books and of course, her.

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