05 01 00

dance

Tonight I listened to some music that used to make me dance.

Before I met Dave, I used to dance a lot. It was private dancing, done alone with the lights off and the curtains shut tight. It was slow, agonized dancing to depressing music. It was angst dancing.

Typical fare was the song "Tired of Me" by Live. The beat was driving, the words expressive. All I had to do was move.

I would start by swaying back and forth, listening to the rhythm. Gradually I would bring my arms into it, gesturing along with the words. The song would be set on repeat; by the second repetition I would be fully immersed in the music.

It wasn't pretty dancing. It wasn't dancing that I would want anyone else to see. It was my way of forgetting about my loneliness. The dance would wrap around me, twirling me into its arms as the song played. When I danced, all I knew was the music.

There was no choreography. This was no learned dance, no dance that I could teach anyone. I wouldn't want to each anyone these dances, for they were private creations of my heart. Each time I danced was different, each dance was unique to that moment and that feeling.

I still dance now and then, but the dances are different. The songs are different. Now I dance a celebration of knowing I love someone and that he loves me. The dances are still ungainly. I still close the curtains. The dances are just as private, just as revealing. The music still wraps around me. But now I don't dance to forget. I dance to tell the story of my heart, telling the empty room and the world how I feel and how I love.

Quit-o-meter

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