Once we danced. He doesn't like to dance. He is not a good dancer either. We have been dancing. Slow, close to each other. Nonromantically, I wanted to write but- in fact though the whole party wasn't, this dance actually was. Or it could have been. I remember myself thinking: this could have been so romantic. And it is not and will never be. Sad thoughts made me breathe a deep sigh. Very deep one. And he answered it best way ever. He did not say a word. He embraced me stronger. Truly the best answer to sad thinking. Best. Best of all.
Categories:
nonromantically, magic, mental illness, perspective,
Form: Prose