Summer Gratitude

For one night, I got to be myself.

I am on a boys couch. I am on a boys balcony. I am in a boys apartment, and that's ok. 

it doesn't entitle him to anything, because this is not the Arab world.

I can dance, whichever way I want to, I can get up on the stage, I can be carried around the dancefloor, we can grind each other like nobody's watching, because I fucking can.

I am flying off the ground.

I can drink, I can take shots, taste wine (and hate it), enjoy a cocktail, because I want to.

I can wear a tank top, nobody I know can see me and shun me, I can walk around the streets in a tank top, I can't remember the last time I could free the hot summer air on my arms, my shoulders, my neck, me chest, my legs.

I can dance on the streets.

You carried me on your shoulders all the way home, so that I wouldn't get tired. Everyone on the streets saw me being carried around, and nobody cared. 

We had your famous post-party noodles, that I still miss, and I owed you nothing. You put me to sleep, and I owed you nothing, you moisturised the skid marks around my thighs, and I owed you nothing. I was naked, and I owed you nothing.

for one night, I didn't need to be covered, yet I was not abused. for one night I was myself, and I owe society nothing.