Incarnate

What is it called when you let your eyes gloss over? Is there a name for that? I did it all evening. Even while we danced—you didn’t know you were puppeting me. All the tinsel, lamplight, polished shoes and smiles, blurring together like a stained glass kaleidoscope. Part of me went missing and I didn’t mind it going. I just kept thinking: this is it. This is as good as anything will ever get. We clung together in that lofty place, like children trying kissing, or simple people talking. Like birds skimming the water, running and flying.