The Lost Dance

He saw her standing alone across the room. She looked sad and tired, almost like she was wilting away. There were people dancing around her. No one noticed her. They looked right at her. No, they looked right through her, and she knew it. She knew that she didn’t fit there and she didn’t want to be there. A fake smile would dance about her face when she thought someone might make eye contact with her. Or if it seemed like someone would engage her in any way, but no one did. So as fast as the false smile appeared it would disappear.

Then he saw her. He was drawn to her. He began to make his way across the room. The room seemed to fill with dancers more and more with each step he took. People wanted to say hello or to ask him how his summer was going. He continued to side step them with a pleasant nod or a quick “very well, thank you”. He was half way across the floor by now when a dark haired girl stepped right up to him. She was resistant to his side step and stepped with him. Finally he nodded to her and said Good day and tried to pass her again. She took his hand in hers and pressed him to dance. All eyes on him now he felt obligated.

He danced with her for only a moment when he glanced to see the girl in the corner and she was looking right at him. He felt his heart sink and he felt ashamed. It didn’t make sense. He didn’t know this girl. He had never met her before yet he felt connected to her in a strange way.

She watched him dance with the raven haired girl. As the dance ended she nodded to him and made her way to the door. He bowed to his partner and bolted for the girl in the corner. By the time he made it to the edge of the room the girl was gone. He ran from the room and out the door into the rain. He looked around and couldn’t see the girl anywhere. The rain drenching him.  He ran through the wet streets splashing through puddles. He searched for the girl but she was nowhere to be found.

He couldn’t call out to her. He didn’t know who she was and yet he felt like he lost something so precious to him. Like a piece of him was lost forever. Lost to the cold wet darkness that surrounded him now. That seemed to drown him in sorrow.

Poetry In Motion

Becky DiFilippo View All →

I’m a writer… I love to write! I’ve been writing since I was eight years old. I can’t imagine life without stories. My life, and your life it’s a story that we are writing everyday.

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