9:12
In my periphery, you hold out your hand and stutter out a request for a slower dance and I, ever the pretender of confidence, take it.
9:16
I remark that your hands are shaking. You deny it but I know what I feel: my heart quivering, your fingers trembling. When we separate and drift towards our friends, I see you reach for my hand. I wonder what would've happened had you not pulled back.
9:23
We dance in the crowd; I don't lose sight of you the whole time through. I tell myself it's so I don't get lost in the shuffle. I neglect to consider that, in a sense, I already am.
9:31
You ask for another dance, boldly this time. Now experienced enough in the way you move, I don't study the floor so intently. You hold me marginally closer. When I spin away, laughing, I watch for your smile as you pull me in.
9:45
We merely sway now and you tell me how good I am at dancing before puling me into a hug as a thank-you for our relationship. (At least, that's what you murmur into my ear when I inquire as to this display of affection. We are not normally like this.) I am unpracticed at intimacy and I'm certain my heart is pulsing through my skin but I still move with the music and with you. You tell me you're afraid to check this time.
9:57
We break apart for the last time. Your hand lingers on mine. I pretend not to notice. I don't mind.
