She loved to watch, but only from a distance. On tip toes, she would follow stealthily after. When it turned around, she disappeared behind the walls she herself had carefully constructed; slowing down in moments where the gap in between them narrowed and they became too close. Only from across the room could she admire intimacy as it swayed under the lights with those around her.
They did not dare join hands. She loathed the co dependency of the dance. She could not buy into the idea of being led, being light and letting go. The notion of surrendering to the decisions and the timing of another made her dizzy. She rejected the back and forth, the circles, the connectedness; knowing it would only be a matter of time before separation would again occur. The movement made her nauseous. Even when firmly rooted in her own balance, she would stumble in an attempt to execute each move gracefully. She was afraid to fall from her center. She did not trust her ability to come back to the middle.
Every once in a while she would extend her hand out too far and not yank back in enough time before intimacy pulled at the tips of her fingers and moved her feet from just beyond the edges of the dance floor. They danced and she was asked how long was she going to run away? How long before she stopped intentionally choosing unhappiness? How long before she opened her hand to be held, her heart to be loved and her self to be seen? How long would it be before she allowed all of the good to be good to her…
“You are crazy. I am busy and I do not dance.” she responded under her breath behind clenched teeth. ”I have dreams. I have a vision. I have songs to sing. I have a thing and oh on that day…another… thing. There is no time for dancing.”
She thought of a thousand more reasons to rationalize her fear as she escorted herself from the dance floor. She would rather viciously rip herself away from those who dare have the audacity to love her instead of staying, and allowing the rhythm to wrap around her heart and melt into the arms of intimacy.
Yet, everyone knew she so badly wanted to. She would show up, needing to be recognized and dreading being seen. Her head following along to the music, dressed in that which bared her soul, saturated in the scent of her own vulnerability.
She craved that which she feared.
She rejected what she prayed for.
She ran from who she chased.
…and despised what she longed.
In a corner, she twirled in desire and wobbled in uncertainty, dancing in her own contradiction. She decided she was safer as a soloist. She fooled no one, but herself.
Just as she felt she might have been ready, the lights came up, the music stopped and she left that night like she always did – alone.