In A Flash
In a flash – in a brief, starlet
moment – under the lights and sound, they were brilliant: they were
the debonair and the beautiful, and for every moment from that time
forward, we loved them.
We watched with eyes ablaze as they
danced for us. They were graceful as they swayed through the
darkness – the lights following them like some love-sick boy on the
playground chasing after his new-found girl. But it was strangely
sensuous how they moved, never touching one another but always close.
I wanted to be them; I wanted to feel the energy that they embodied.
There was an energy that came from them that I wanted to harness and
take as my own and be so much a part of it. I was enamored of them,
and I wanted them to love me, too.
All of us gathered together, huddled
close as though we were protecting ourselves from the cold; and we
watched. We could not touch them; they were to us too delicate. I
felt a hand on my arm, but I did not look to see who it was there
beside me. They held fast to me, and I protected them in some way as
we stared, mesmerized by the dancing and the lithe movements – and
the brilliance.
“Dance,” I whispered. It had only
meant to be in my head. There were gasps all around me, and I felt
the fool for my outward jubilance.
There was no retribution, but I kept
reign of my tongue.
Then in a flash – in a second that I
wanted to last forever – those two atoms were four.
“Dance,” I said.
And they did – just for me.
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