We've
been performing the dance for a while now. It has the intensity of the salsa
and the slow sexiness of the waltz. It's passionate and cold all at once.
Depending on the day and the weather it feels sweaty like humidity and soft
like rain. It feels right like love and wrong like love.
The
dancers bow in the soft light. To each other and to what might be. The curtains
stand witness to this peculiar enactment. The air is loaded with questions, worries
and anxieties. But the arms that hold you close feel so right.
There
is music playing, too softly. You strain your ears to catch a note and realise
what you're doing. It's about the person
you're with. Not the song. Even silence makes for a lovely slow dance.
Your
head rests on his shoulders. Your arms go around his waist. You feel his
fingers on your back and smile as he takes a deep breath of you.
Should
we make a pretence of dancing. We should. We move, slowly. Praying that phones
don't ring, we aren't needed, that the world doesn't need us. That nothing
should cut into this dance. Legs move, arms too. You bury your face in his
neck. He feels warm and his pulse,just a little ragged. Your fingers touch his
heart. It's an intimate gesture. And you feel what it does to him. He has no
idea what you're thinking feeling living.
You
move in closer. He does too. The dance stops. Even as the music plays on.
Forget
the questions. Forget the futility of it all. Don't question what it is and
isn't. Quell that hungry aching heart that wants and needs. Just. breathe. him.
in.
Standing
there in that space with him holding you like he's serious, is all you can do
right now. And all you've ever wanted to do.
Just dance.
