Dancing

Love was light and gentle as the airy breeze that cooled my skin. We danced the Kizomba and I followed her hips swaying before me in a rustling summer dress. It was the first night of my life with Love. We closed our eyes and slumbered in the infinite embrace of each other’s arms, the embers glowing defiantly in the dying flames. Then Love rose and dropped the dark blue cloak of night at her feet. She turned away from the fire and faded, like stars inevitably do in the moment of dawn.

That one time was enough. I still feel Love´s warm droplets of sweat running down the arch of her back, intoxicated by the sweet scent of her perfume, the world whirling around me in the enticing cadence of her hips. Love dances every evening until the day embraces the night and the morning gently kisses her lips. Love won’t let go of me and as long as I hold on to her, life will hold on to me. Isn’t she beautiful? As I sit on the edge of the bed I watch her in my room, a silent space as big as the world. My Love is sleeping there, her eyes are dancing in the rhythm of her dreams.

 

-/\-

I have linked this story to the Wicked Wednesday meme of Marie A. Rebelle´s blog: ‘Rebel´s Notes.’ It is an adaptation of a short entry I wrote in Dutch for the Valentines day writing contest of Editio.nl. The prompt was: ‘write an Ode to Love in no more than 250 words.’ The motto of the contest was: ‘If Love isn´t insane, it isn´t Love.’

 

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