` May I have this dance? ` ♡
She talks like water— cold and smooth, hiding the void behind a placid surface smile. ( laslow can see his reflection in her when their eyes lock; another dancer hiding something, but as soon as they touch it is gone— lost to the ripples and the flood. ) When he accepts her invitation, a hand outstretched, it is as cold as the waves on a winter shoreline, bleak.
Ah, memories.
It begins with a step.
He knows the routine better than he knows his own names, better than he knows himself at this point. Each movement is practiced, reaching, yearning for the thoughts of himself as a child; every twirl echoing nights under the watchful eye of the moon, bodies pulling with the tides.
Forward, right, left, then pull her close, turn—
( but who is she dancing for? who breathed love down to the soles of her feet, melted her warn-torn soul into something so graceful? )
Back step, left, forward again, repeat, turn slowly now, guide—
( who’s arms was she in before this, learning each movement as one learns soft words? who is she writing this love letter too? )
And as they dance, Laslow wades into the dark, swallowing seawater until all he can taste are the stars reflected back to the sky.
