Half a Solo Dance

Dear you,

I have danced so much in your space until my feet felt numb and my body lost its balance under the constant moves you made. I have taken a floor that was not mine, and thus receded to where I belonged, far from the spotlights of the dance songs.

I left you there, unaware of my absence and immersed magically in your own moves. You danced alone and enjoyed it more than a dance in my company, so I retreated humbly to let you dance until the last move of your soul. When I started to feel my body again, I sat on a chair close by to be able to see you. You moved as if the earth were underneath you and the air was moving you, not your own body. You let your hands sway and your legs carry your whole body at once and drop it on the floor the next moment without thumping a bit, like a butterfly, or a bird.

The whole audience fixed its gaze on you, like a dance show. They would clap and gasp with every sway you made. But no one knew you swayed better alone. You danced better alone. The floor was always yours, and when I appeared, I would only be the partner of the lead dancer. I would be nothing more. You led my steps and I followed your pace, however fast it was. I was always able to follow your lead and pace, without questioning how or why. I would then withdraw myself slowly so that you can make your final moves. My hands would gradually let go of yours, finger by finger, slowly and reluctantly. Because I always wanted to dance with you until the very last move, until that moment we abruptly finish our dance, stare joyfully at each other, and kiss one another in a blink.

I had always wanted to leave the floor with you, not alone. But you were destined to have the floor for yourself at the end of every dance. It felt like I would never make any endings with you. And while you chose to be alone, you left me always, always with void, incomplete dances, abruptly ending when they are close to their climax. Like now.

Yours faithfully and sincerely,

N.