Dancing #500wordFriday

Not quite as dark this week. 🙂



I take her hand in mine. Her skin is soft, and her fingers long, rings wrapping around them, twinkling in the light of the ballroom.

We are alone, twirling around this large empty space. She smiles, and laughter slips from her lips. It echoes, bouncing off the ceiling, the walls, coming back to us and wrapping around our bodies as we move in time to imagined music, an unheard beat that we both feel inside.

Her fingers come to her lips, her eyes wide, surprised and embarrassed by the sound she just made.

We mustn’t get caught in this place.

My feet slide along the polished floor, pulling her close to me, my hand going around her supple waist. She bites the bottom of her lip, her gaze on the ground, shy, beautiful.

I touch my lips to hers and we stop, our bodies pressed together. Her hand brushes my cheek and I shiver.

Our eyes open, and I fall into her deep blue eyes. They are like the purest water, deliciously cool and deep.

“I love you,” she whispers.

I echo her words. They are not enough. They don’t express the longing, the protective ache, the admiration I feel for her.

I pull her over to the glass doors that open out into the impressive garden. It is a grand place, a place of fairy tales dreams, a place I could never hope to truly belong.

We step outside, into the warmth of fresh spring sunshine. Our arms wrap around each other’s waists, and I never want to let go of her. My heart aches, knowing that I must.

The garden is full of colour. Newly blossomed trees line the main path, pale pink and yellow tiny flowers blowing in the gentle breeze. Flowers, yellow and red and pink and white, all poking their heads up above the soil, hesitantly looking up at the sun, drinking in its steady warmth.

The gravel of the winding path crunches delicately beneath my feet. It is a path to nowhere, leading only back to the ballroom doors. I do not want it to come to an end. I wish to walk on this path with her, just like this, forever.

But it is inevitable that it will end. All things do.

We pass a secluded area. An arch made of plants and flowers frames the entrance, a thick hedge its border. We pause by the arch, and my gaze goes to the slimmer path inside. I shouldn’t be here, but I cannot enter that place. I fear my heart would break completely if I did.

Her head comes to my shoulder. She knows my pain.

We walk on, and I resist the compulsion to look over my shoulder, to look back and make the pain worse.

She begins to hum softly, the sound delicate, reminding me of nightingales in the summer.

I hold her even tighter, but by the time I stand facing the doors to the house again, I am alone.


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