Sunlight shattered against her shoes, swept across the cobblestones, gleamed in his hair, and glittered in the small beads of sweat dotting their faces. It was thus that their parents found them - collapsed together; dancing clothes rumpled.
Despite claims otherwise, neither audience nor dancers would be the same again. That night they spent with each other, dancing (or watching), two coils of smoke spinning and intertwining would burn in their memories. It would stand like a glowing ember against a background of ash. All who had gathered under the setting sun, and then chose to remain as the stars rose above them were moved by the beauty of the dance, the rhythm of the music; awed by how the night had come together.
Perhaps they would dance again; setting aside their differences and prejudices as they had that night. Choosing to stand, then move together, bound by a burning passion. Watched by eyes empty, for the night, of anger and hate. The entire gathering caught in the world created by darkness and music. Until their energy could no longer sustain their passion, and they would collapse; eyelids fluttering, breaths heaving, in and out. The audience would leave them, re-collecting their hate on their way out.
The dancers would remain, resting under the rising sun; until they were awoken - then they too would leave, re-collecting their hate as they turned their backs on one another.
Yet, the possibility remains that someday the audience and the dancers alike will forget to take their hate with them when they leave. And it will lie dying without them, until it passes on. And at last, at last, something new can grow where the hate once lay. Something to bind and hold them together as a nation, rather than two people within a country separated by judgements, lies and hate, and bound only by a shared passion.
