♦-selmawinter
♦:Slow dancing selmawinter
She had obliged him for the first half hour. In the shadow of the place, having a drink. The music was set at a lower place and the atmosphere wasn’t so bad. He told her he had expected crowds and techno. She had laughed and looked around her. It was small. A place that she said she had found a while back. She referred to things of her past as a while back, accompanied by a look around the room. Subjects better left not talked about.
He didn’t want to hear about them either. He preferred not knowing. It was over. It was done with and it was a matter of pressing forward. Not thinking of it. Those were scars and he knew them all too way. Mar the scars and heal over. He wanted to break her open and start anew.
She said she hadn’t gone here though. She said that she never wanted to go back then. She wanted to actually have a nice time. And he told her he was sorry for the first half hour but she laughed at that. He wasn’t making things bad, never could. And he wanted to laugh at that. But he knew not to laugh. He knew that he couldn’t because she might or might not take it the right way. She was childlike and soft, easily pressed in. Bad things were more his forte and he had been carved from unbalanced pieces. He wanted to claw through them to find the right thing, the right thing for her.
He reached for her hand and he offered up a smile instead. A pressing of her hand. “Want to dance?”
She laughed that time though. But she nodded. And she was the one who led him there. Far and then close. He didn’t pay much mind to the song on the speakers. It was loud enough that they couldn’t talk to each other. But it was slow paced and it would forever be lodged somewhere in his mind. He hoped so. It’d be nice to store something good there.
He focused only on colors. Her hair, her lips, the shine of her eyes when she looked at him before resting her head on his chest. He focused on feeling, the feel of her small and pressed into him, the light sway of her body near his. On scent, the one that lingered on the strands of her hair, clung to the atmosphere. He could feel the rise and fall of her chest to his. He felt the whisper of her lips against the skin of his neck. He wondered if she had marked him with her lipstick. He closed his eyes, running his tongue across his lips remembering the taste of her lipstick. He felt her arms tighten around him.
