A Myth Can Never Be

The dance floor let´s me be. That´s a fact. It´s not imagery, or embelishment, or even a metaphor. It´s the truth. Anywhere else I am trapped. Either by myself or by others. Trapped by my shyness, by my doubt, by the fear of what others think of me. For a second, right now, I thought maybe it was the alcohol not the dance. But then I remembered that even the alcohol doesn´t help me break free anywhere else. It must be the dance, the moment, the music. The rules are different in the dance floor. Appearences are not as much of a factor on the dance floor. Is it because I can move, because I am fun. Girls like dancing with me, girls like being with me. I make them laugh. They think I´m real, I think. Yet girls don´t think about me, they don´t dream of me. They don´t write my name in their notebooks. To them I am almost asexual. I am a being they like to be around but can´t fathom the though of me as a man, their man. The tragic irony of this myth I have created for myself is that myths are not mortal. Only mortals hold the right to be with mortals. Myths have to rely on treachery. But a loveless act of love is as good as null. Maybe it is love that inspires me. In the end I am loved. I feel it, I love back. It is hard to help but love me. Am I the reincarnation of some tragic being, set to live another´s faith? I am loved by all yet by none. My tears would cry but wouldn´t know to who. There is none I can call and be myself to, maybe not even me. I feel myself not being good enough although all else points to yes.