The Dance

She danced across the field towards him. Her toes gently squished the grassy shoots as she padded lightly in a perfect arabesque. Her fingers swirled away from her wrists as they waltzed to their own rhythm. As light as a feather, as free as a bird; she felt very clichéd.
Her confidence floated away on the warm spring breeze as he approached her. His hand was not held out, his feet were following a steady thud; a far cry from the twitter of her own. Out of step, out of time; he was not here for her.
His expression showed he had no time for games. A firm, steady pencil line of a frown hung heavily from his chin. Deep-set and frightening, his usual dimples were yawning potholes, devoid of laughter. And still she kept dancing.
Her original grin relaxed to a pleasant smile as she dipped and weaved around him, hoping to entrance him back to their usual two-step. He was not to be captured.
As arrogantly as an enraged bull, he stood there; stocky and unmoving. His whole stance radiated defiance; he was not to be ignored. But nor would he join in.
She heard the beginning of the coda, felt the switch as they entered a new key signature. The minor key hit a lower chord, mirroring the air blistering from him. Her steps slowed to walking pace, a stately waltz. Two steps forward, three steps back. It was the same, familiar pattern. She grabbed his hand, pulling him into the motions despite his resistance.
They paced the down-trodden grass, trampling past dandelions and mossy roots. He swept her into a tango as they entered a new phase. Heads close, so close she could hear all his thoughts, they thundered across the plains at break-neck speed. He stopped short, letting her fall so far she feared he would drop her, before restoring her faith and spinning her around.
They spun so fast she felt the ground disappear beneath them. The cliché’s began once more; their own personal playlist as the skirt of her tea-dress whirled past her thighs. In that instance, she truly believed in magic.
They hit the ground running and out of breath. She felt the electricity shoot from her toes to her head, leaving her dizzy with ecstasy. The movement changed, the tempo dropped and the mambo was forgotten as he pushed her away once more.
In the haze that followed, she wasn’t quite sure where she ended up. When the fog cleared, she found herself twirling solo at the hedge by the gate. The melody began to rit as the piece began its triumphant ending. She stomped and she cried with injustice as the haunting tune swallowed her up once more.
And in that moment, she was not human; she was not even an existence. She was simply a melody she knew he would never be able to let go off. Battling their emotions, fighting for control, they would always return to this spot. The dance would begin, and it would end. They would part for a short time, as though on a tea break, before the musicians picked up their sheets for ‘one last rehearsal’. The goodbye tour would never come. This dance would last forever.

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2 thoughts on “The Dance

    • Thank you :). I actually wrote it as a really angsty sixteen year old, but I reread it recently and realised it still applied. I liked the idea that life was one big circular musical expression at the time — I was sixteen, obsessed with love and determined to write my then biggest crush into a happy ending!

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