I feel the bass ripping through my ribs. I’m too focused on the sound to register anything else around me. Everything moves in blurs. “If you wanna dance, we can dance,” I said hours earlier. I begin to regret it as much as I needed it. The floor keeps pulsing beneath me, and somewhere along the way I stopped feeling my feet. In fact, the only thing I can feel is the taste of citrus sitting at the back of my tongue. The rest of my senses have dissolved into coaster marks and dust around the room.

Time passes in the flicker of the lights, each moment sliding down my spine. Although it’s too dark to see outside, I just know the sun is coming up. It’s fine, I think. I won’t feel anything for much longer.

I eventually allow myself to just be, to lean into the night as it leans back. But as soon as I let loose, someone bumps into my shoulder and lands straight against my chest. They mutter something I couldn’t possibly hear before making their way into the crowd. All around me, the night keeps happening. So fast, so certain of itself. Everyone seems to know exactly where they are, and, more importantly, where they’re going. 

Except me. So I follow their footsteps.

The movement guides me. The music pulls me in, the lights pull me out, but something keeps pulling me closer. I see it from a distance. At first, it’s just a shape, moving faster than the rest. But something about it feels so familiar, the kind of walk with no hesitation between steps.

I try to keep up. I push through the crowd, but the crowd pushes back. Every path I see fades right in front of me. I lose track of it, then find it again in flashes of light. My mind spins faster and faster. For a moment, I think about letting it go.

Then I see it again. Closer now.

The beat that had taken over my body now sounds like it’s trapped somewhere inside the walls. I take a few steps toward a hallway. I hear distant voices, as if they belong to another night entirely. My spine settles. I look up and the figure stops moving. For a moment, I think I’ve lost it again. But something always shifts. 

The distance between us tightens.

Can you see me?

Their eyes are low, hair damp with sweat. Their shoulders lean slightly forward, as if they carry the night on them. They draw in long, deep breaths. I squint and they slowly come into focus. Step into the light.

Can you see me now?

I’m not sure if I responded, but they knew the answer right away. For the first time that night, I stood still. In the dim between the music and the morning, the room finally grows quiet enough for me to understand. The person standing in front of me isn’t a stranger. And this night is no different from the others.

I lived on the dancefloor, died in the hallway. I wasn’t called upon, didn’t chase anyone through a crowd, never met someone new in the light. I had only been going in circles. I searched for something outside of me, only to realize it wasn’t there at all.

I had only been trying to catch up with myself. And when I finally stopped, it did too.

That’s the thing about the disco. You can't stay too long without running into yourself.