In a big, beautiful, white party room dances a little girl, no older than 12, twirling in her long dress. The flowery and music filled environment welcomes her to the open space she makes her very own dance floor. The ceiling is speckled with diamonds, the orange glowing bulbs from the midriff of the walls reflecting little shards of light around the room. She faces the colossal chandelier, her eyes closed as she spins, the lights dancing around the freckles that litter her skin. She takes in her surroundings with a deep breath. The air is thick as the air conditioning units try to keep up with the amount of people in the room. She listens to the loud buzz of people talking and laughing. She mimics it, her own laughter echoing off the pristine walls. The vibrations of the sweet music shake her eardrums. The clinking of glasses almost blends into the scene. She spins for only a few seconds, yet her senses take in her environment for what feels like hours. Her bare feet stick to the floor a little bit, the sweat between them creating an adhesive like barrier. She feels secluded, as if no one in the world could possibly be watching her in this moment, yet all eyes tend to wander her way at some point in curiosity. As she hears the sounds of LP’s voice singing through the speakers, she drifts away from reality, feeling the freedom in every movement she makes. Her hair spins out, synchronized with the movements of her body. She looks free, as if she is lost in a space pocket in which time does not exist. She feels as if nothing even really matters in this moment, a freeze frame of pure bliss. Her friends sit, watching in amazement, but not in her beauty. They share a shocked look on their faces at the way she feels in this moment. It shouldn't be possible for one to feel pure bliss at a time and place the girl finds herself in. 

From an outside perspective, the room looks like a party, a passerby might not even stop to ponder on why these people are gathered here like this. They would be so focused on the girl in the middle of the room, spinning and laughing, that they would miss the sign on the door; “Karen Lynn Nevins … born July 8, 1969 and died Sunday, October 8, 2017, surrounded by family and friends in her home…” The girl danced to keep her mind off of the events of the evening and memorial. She danced because she knew that if she would stop, it would all flood back to her. She felt herself in a war zone with her own memories, dancing as a way to escape. Every time a memory tried to hit her from one direction, she spun the other way to dodge any fleeting thought of her mother. When she stopped spinning, she danced her way around the room, never pausing her movements for even a fleeting second.

Eventually, her dancing slowed, the night came to an end, and she found herself pitifully alone. The noise around her came to an abrupt stop as soon as she closed her bedroom door. The silence that waited for her in her own loneliness would consume her. For the first time in weeks, she was by herself, with no one nor thing to fill up the background noises to keep the thoughts in her head distracted. She felt alone in both a physical and emotional sense. The fog filled her brain and everything came in a rush. Every emotion she was hiding behind her dancing figure came out of the dark, showing itself on her face. Her world began to spin and spin, but not in the way it was when she was dancing. The silence ran around her brain, sounding not so silent as it ricocheted around in her skull. All she wanted was peace. Peace with herself and the world around her that she had begun to experience in a way she wished she never had. Peace with the grief, the love, and the loss. The peace she sought for was never held, always fleeting, and she found that she could never catch up to it. It was when she slowed down, working through the thorn bushes of her brain, that she found it hidden away.