Retrospect

I remember, that night we were 17 - it seems like so long ago.

I guess it really has been that long.

I remember your dress - it was pink, and you looked beautiful in it.

The dress never really mattered - you would still look beautiful wrapped in a rug, as far as I was concerned.

I remember that night, when I asked you to dance. You were the first girl I'd ever really danced with.

Your hands were cold, and you were hesitant as I took your hand gingerly and led you to the floor. My heart beat like my own private marching band, parading in my chest.

Somehow, though, I knew - there wouldn't be a fairytale ending to this night.

It didn't matter - after all those years I'd finally convinced myself that I might just have the guts to do it.

I feel an exquisite shiver as I gently place my hands on your hips.

I could never dance. Even in the bittersweet recollection I cannot kid myself that it was a graceful affair.

But never in my life did I care less - I was looking into your beautiful eyes, and that was all that mattered.

And how we danced, we danced the night away... just like we've danced this dance all these years.

At some point, it is over. The spell is broken, and the world exists for me once more. We sit down, and it's only a matter of time - till it's all over.

Later that night, we find ourselves alone.

I stuttered to the glass, I held your hand, you felt immune.

I remember looking at myself, the fool, in the mirrored walls of that hotel ballroom.

I close your hand around the ring, that ring that I'd been dying to give you for months.

I kiss you lightly on the forehead, and I tell you, I'll wait.

I did.

And I guess, I will.

Always.

I'll wait.