The guitar strums.
I close my eyes and let it trickle over me.
I miss this. It's been... well I don't know exactly how long it's been since I felt this way, but it's a long time, no matter how long the actual number of days is.
Before I know it, my hips are moving. Then my feet. The rest of my body follows suit and I let the music lead.
I feel your hand in mine. Encouraging. You know this isn't like me at all, but apparently you're glad to see it, as your other hand ends up on my hip.
I honestly don't remember the last time I've danced with anyone. I feel awkward, unsteady, and unsure, but your gentleness makes me forget all that.
I'm glad I put the song on repeat so we can keep going this way. Your laugh spills out and it sounds like warm honey with cinnamon. How I adore that sound. Almost as much as I adore the music.
This song is my favorite. But this is a world where my favorite song is difficult to listen to. It reminds me of good things, like all favorite songs do; it also reminds me of bad things. Dissolved dreams, broken hearts, darkness. It's bittersweet.
But those things are at the back of my mind as I find myself swaying my hips, barefoot over the bedroom carpet, the chords on the guitar and you leading me along.
I twirl, and the room spins around me, in shapes that vaguely resemble your face. I close my eyes and let the little girl euphoria make little colorful bubbles behind my eyelids before I come to a stop.
The chords fade away and I open my eyes.
The darkness is jarring, and I remember the truth.
The music is in my earbuds.
Your laugh is on the audio at the end of this song. This song I love and hate.
Your face is only photos on the wall.
I was dancing with my demons, but I will always wish I was dancing with you.
