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May 2018
I have a waltz, playing behind my eyes - open or closed -
three time.
one-two-three, one-two-three,
a silhouette of two girls dancing.

I learned it when I was 7,
playing dress-up as Cinderella -
my grandmother taught me, dancing around her dining room table.

There isn’t any music, just a rhythm -
one-two-three, one-two-three,
three time.

But there wasn’t any music in real-life, either -
just a fast song we ignored, tired of jumping up and down like crazy people
(or high schoolers who couldn’t dance)

I can’t dance” - I had said, at least four times already, an attempt at an apology,
watching our two friends take the dance floor by storm.
Yeah, neither can I” - I got back, although you knew Swing, I was fairly sure,
Well, except the Waltz,” I think I said, my attempt to make up my own inadequacy -
So do I,” you said, and then, most hesitantly, gesturing to nothing at all, “do you want to?

I didn’t remember most everything, just that it was three-time,
I let you direct my hands where they were supposed to go, covering shoulder and waist - and then we were, for all purposes, ready to dance.

and No - I don’t know what it meant, if it meant anything, -
just that it was awkward, a bit, because the fast music messed with the three-time rhythm so my steps were a bit off beat, and that the song ended just in time to stop it from becoming truly awkward,
just that we were friends, and I had never danced with anyone before,
grandparents aside -
just that it was lovely, and it made me smile
just that I can’t stop remembering it, but I don’t really mind.

Because we did dance;
the left back corner, a section of the dance floor all our own.
Written by
Sam  Tokyo, Japan
(Tokyo, Japan)   
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