I don't dance. Ok, that isn't right. I dance around
the truth sometimes. I dance in the loneliness of my
house to Mandisa or Toby Mack. I dance a story
around in my head. I sometimes, though very rarely,
dance in public when the mood or the pressure is too
much.
The one time I distinctly remember dancing was
when I had my first kiss. I had thought about that kiss
so many times before it happened and I always
imagined a lingering kiss and hug. You know, fairy tale
stuff. When the day finally arrived, he leaned in,
kissed me gently and then pulled away. GREAT! I, on
the other hand, spun and twirled in front of him.
That was my raw expression at the time and I truly
don't know exactly where it came from for me to
dance. I am sure, though, he thought me odd, but he
just smiled and kissed me again.
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