...and she danced, in soft bittersweet circles, across the hardwood floor. She imagined that there was an audience of hundreds enraptured by her every movement...her every nuance. She didn’t hear him arrive and she was startled when he caught her on the fly.
“You still miss it, don’t you?” he asked, his face a study in quiet conflict. “The dancing...”
She made a futile effort to fight back tears as she reached up and touched his face gently. ”Yes,” she said in a creamy voice, “and I always will. But I will never regret it...as long as your love for me is as true as mine is for you.”
He kissed her softly, his lips brushing gently against hers and then pulling back. “It always will be true,” he promised.
She smiled brightly and snuggled into him. “Then I’ll be your dancer and that will be more than I could have ever prayed for.”
They found music in their hearts...then and ever in sync...and they began to dance…a sweet, slow waltz across the floor.
“My dancer,” he whispered into her ear. “My precious, beautiful dancer...”
They kissed, fleetingly, and then danced...a slow lovers' waltz...as the shadows of twilight gathered about and kept them safe from the coming night.