The Dance

When was the last time you slow-danced with someone?

It has been nearly 17 years since a full-song slow-dance for me, when we were engaged. More recently, this past summer, I was saying goodbye to someone (else) and he placed his right hand perfectly on my lower back, took my right hand in his left and moved me gently for a few beats. I wasn’t expecting it, but his hold was sure enough that he moved me like he was moving with air.

Nothing in between these two men.

At some point in the last week, I mentioned how it’s the country music genre which brings to life the most beautiful slow-dance songs. Heartbreakers each one of them.

I miss it. Few things make my heart beat faster than when the right man flattens his palm against my lower back and pulls me in quietly. Breath on my neck undoes me. A hug, a kiss, a slow-dance. My reaction is always the same. I don’t want to move. I want that moment every day.

It’s something I’ve always loved.

The comfort of leaning into him, not being afraid of a misstep because he’s got it covered.

It’s that we can’t speak loudly, when this close.

It’s the gentle touch of my forehead to his cheek.

It’s the ease of a kiss, when this close.

It’s the enveloppement, and it’s the energy, but mostly it’s the peace between us.

Always, it’s the promise of more.


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