It feels like every time I write something I want to call it experimental... ah, well; just think of it as poetic.

All standard disclaimers apply.

And You Will Dance

Some night, one that feels far into the future now but will be the distant past before we know it, the moon will be full. The light will shine down onto the pond gently, like a mother embracing her child. It will be dark, yes, but the moon's light will reflect upon the still water and it will feel like we are in the light of day, beckoning me to come.

And you will dance.

You will start out slowly as you begin to sway to the music in your head, if you even need music to dance to anymore; most likely, you are moving to the music of nature, of the moonlight, those songs without words or a beat. You will step gently, the light and the earth embracing your frail body, as if it was there only for you. As you twirl, the wind will begin to blow, and you will blow with it like you were part of it, like a leaf carried by it; it will only add to your gracefulness. You will dance to show your emotions the only way you can, to show how sad you are about the cruelty of your fate and the fates of the ones you love, to show what joy you have at the opportunity to live.

And you will see me.

And you will stop, embarrassed. Realizing you have shown your heart to the one she most loves. Your heart, your emotions, and your identity have all been softly exposed by your dance, and now you are naked. Then you will see that I have understood your feelings, your longing, your dream – and I am smiling. And you will smile back, because you now know – perhaps you always knew, in your heart of hearts – that our love is not evil; it is kind and gentle and joyful.

And you will continue to dance, but now you will know that I will always be there watching you.