Dance

November 13, 2011

It's the same show. You appearing unexpectedly. Down that runway you strut, up the sidewalk you run. Your smirk. Your smile. You pose. You jump up. It's the difference between the confident model and the closest friend. Everyone's eyes are on you. Our hearts aflutter, if only the dress would hitch up a few more inches. Our vision connected. You're the only girl to have ever looked me in the eye. The dancing music blasts, but all I hear is our favorite song. The one that played that last night. It's always an allusion, forever a reference. It's a bond never broken.

The last night. The first night. They all revolve around one big mass, one gigantic mess. Isn't it the not knowing that kills us? What could have become, what should have been done. We're anything but blameless. Faults never spoken of, but they're on the tips of our tongues. We want to throw books, to blame, to cry, and wonder why.

A dance. That's all it took. That black dress of yours, bending knees, and a momentary glance. Partners fall away, forgotten. Air wraps itself around us and we're removed, disconnected. Senses fail. Senses electrify. It's only your touch that does it. The smile is all the same, the hair thrown back. Only we exist. It hasn't changed.

That night, I whispered. Save the last dance for me. You broke all other promises, but you kept that one. It's an instant reflex, a memory that flashes and fulfills.

The phone rings. Your hands never leave mine. Ringing. Body shots and toasts to a friendship. Ringing. Collapsing onto your bed after the longest nights. You were the best part. Sometimes all we need is someone who understands.

It's you. Whatever damning story. Your voice flows out the speaker. Whichever mistake. Your voice never cracks. No matter the pain caused. Except this time. You're always there. Just this once.

Come dance.

Because this is the last one. And you saved it.