Missing Rhythm and Dancing With Ms.
Never quiet, she dances with endless energy under the sun and the moon. No two shuffles, kicks, and swings alike, she feels a sense of life and calming power, originality at her core.
Yet, from an outsider’s perspective, her rhythm is loose, unpredictable, even nonexistent, as the peak of her foot taps to and fro to a music only she can hear. But I see a beauty behind her curls, a unique window in and out of her soul. For I too dance alongside her, struggling to keep up with her quick intricacies and subtly changing jives.
A slow building sway, she begins by pushing forward, but seemingly only inch by inch, the spotlight reflecting off her mirror blue, green eye. Ever so slightly, the tune’s tempo slowly intensifies until… a brief pause in the action:
The break that bridges the inching sway to a rumbling, barreling, powerful dance. Melody in her soul, she crashes along the dance floor, sweeping up the air around her, uncontrolled syncopation at her feet.
Today the beauty of her face resting behind her curls is particularly resonant, and her dance seems to last forever, drawing in the eyes of the watchful.
Those eyes. Those eyes each tell a different story. No two members of the audience came for the same reason, just as no two members of the audience leave feeling the same way. And yet, a moment shared among strangers in the audience, each suitor waiting their turn, hopeful they’ll receive an inaudible invite to dance alongside her.
Today might be the day for them, but alas, I must once again sit in wait, a different setting my current, far away home. But soon enough, I will be back in the same dance hall as she. For when you miss a love, you can’t get her face, her curls, or the shared dances you’ve had out of your head.
All I hope for is that when I drop in to the dancehall next, it doesn’t close out.