"Dance." He said unto me, and we took to the floor. Our hands moving and roaming over the tender flesh of youth. Our heart beats quickened by the music's beat. We moved as one, yet apart. A fight, yet love as we moved. His hand sliding down my cheek, only to slap me, and then I would turn away. Walk from him, only to be called back. Back to his arms, my body arching back, as his hand dragged down my chest, to touch lightly. But more the dance became as we moved are hands suggestively, but only inches from the actual flesh of one another. Our bodies moving in time. Separate but hot, young and oh so willing.
A touch here, and breath of warm air there. Never danced before, never danced the same twice. Two becoming one, yet in conflict and harmony. A story in our arms, our moves, our steps. Mirrors to each other, yet a song unto ourselves. Then all to soon it ends. The dream the passion the music, fades. Cold silence once again between the two. The dance a distance memory. Her heart breaking, with tears of silence.
Music and harmony that which flows deeper to the heart, and it's forever beat. Passion and dizziness, lost in the movement and the moment, and only the memory to remember. Images, giving flashes to the past. Realizing the brink to which the couple stood. Love like a dance, this was passion and giving. All to quickly it was gone. The waiting, killing both, but both afraid from the Dance. It had reveiled to many truths, to many weaknesses. It was to be feared, and an end to them both.
Once again they rush to each other's arms, but in the silence and stillness there is not the passion. The music is not in their veins as before, letting their senses go. However in the silence a quiet music is heard, not even of the heart beat, but of their touch. A soft tingling sound as one hand is held in another. Then a brush against a check. The caress of the fingers across a clothed chest. The rustle of the fabric, the sigh in the silence. Energy around the two, in a warm embrace, like the arms they hold each other with. Not a kiss has pass between the lips, but the hearts talk of another story. One of sadness, and rejection. Stories of years of pain and anger, of fear and most of all hurt.
To soon the night ends and she sits alone. Her heart aching for the touch of him again. The innocence of his face, and the care of his touch. To much to say, and explain. Of her own pain, her own dark secrets. To show him, she is the same beyond the walls that surround her. The writing she does now, tells him now. Posted for the world to see, but with little hope he will ever look upon it and understand. Love lost, and gained in a day. Each day in each other's prescience, when the words are not spoken the hurt grows. Differences that don't actually exist, separating them. Hold out your hand, and I am done.