The Waltz

The room is filled with people I kind of know and a person I wish for nothing more than to know again. I knew she would be here. I wonder if she knew I would be here too. I wonder if she knows I'm only here... for her.

Voices blend together and bounce off the ornate walls; deafening white noise. Incoherent, yet comforting. Alone in a crowded room. The chandeliers sparkle like stars in the night sky above. They illuminate the dance floor, freshly waxed, which glitters like diamonds.

The orchestral ensemble begins playing a familiar song, and I close my eyes, imagining our body's close touch as we swing in tune. Snapping out of my daydream, I look over to her. She sits at an empty table, her baby blue gown rippling gently, hugging her figure; taut in all the right places.

I figured she would be dancing. I wonder if she remembers the steps.

I remove myself from the wall I've been stuck to for the past hour and start my approach. Confident, but restrained. My chest tightens. She sees me coming, shifting in her seat, seemingly clearing her throat. Finally looking at me. I almost turn around.

I say nothing as I arrive at her table, I merely hold a hand out to her. She hesitates, but she takes it. My heart skips a beat at the familiar warmth beneath my fingertips, and I guide her to the dance floor.

She keeps her eyes on my face; a glare. Yet, she's here, with me, allowing me to lead. I can't read her.

I hold her hand high and take my bow. She follows my niceties with a curtsey. My free hand reaches for her waist, and my breath hitches as I realize how low-cut the back of her dress is. I feel her bare skin beneath a few of my fingertips, and the sensation has me buzzing. She puts her free hand on my shoulder, and I'm grateful for the pressure of her hand on my body. Grounding. I missed this.

We pick up where we left off. Dancing in unison. I can't tell who's guiding who, but we're on beat and we're moving as one. She keeps her eyes locked on mine, yet I can't help but linger on the details of her face. Drinking them in, as if it's the last time I'll see them.

1. 2. 3.

1. 2. 3.

The need to memorize every part of her distracts me, and I trip. Her glare softens, and she paints a smirk across her face. I smile at her smile, and I fall back in line. Stepping carefully.

1. 2. 3.

1. 2. 3.

I find the strength I need to spin her, and the room starts to turn in slow motion. Disorienting ecstasy. Her baby blue dress flows gently in the static air. I get a glimpse of her shoulder blades and do my best to memorize them before she faces me again. A sigh of relief when the pressure of her fingertips find my shoulder again.

1. 2. 3.

1. 2. 3.

The song is almost over but I need it to never end.

1. 2. 3.

1. 2. 3.

The orchestra comes to a halt. The sound of pages turning can be heard as they begin to start the next song.

We come apart.

I bow.

She curtseys.

And we go back to our places as wallflowers. Ornaments of desire. Separate, yet inextricably linked.