Of Hands and Hearts

A and I had gone dancing; finally surrendering to the pull of the music, and with some concerted effort, allowed myself to be led.

I had come to adore the subtle romance of the bachata. For the last dance A dipped me gracefully and whirled me right back up with impeccable finesse. He was one of the best dancers, if not the best dancer there.

I was happy to be there and be privy to this part of his inner world.

We met up with the guys afterwards for tea and shisha, as we are accustomed to. It was an unusually cold night for the Sandbox at the cusp of spring, and so I warmed my hands by the fire.

“Your hands are the closest I’ve ever been to your heart.” said A sincerely.

From his words, to the fire, to my hands, and then to my heart, I was warmed.

“You are in my heart A.” I replied tenderly.

And it was true. Maybe not in the way that he expects, but he was in my heart.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s