Memory of a dance


The moment when our hands touch, our eyes meet and a whisper leaves our lips.

Without noticing we start dancing, and while we spin, we laugh: the most sincere and beautiful open-hearted laugh that ever left our mouths.

The music fades, the spinning ends and not even the faint whisper of our names remain.

Just the warmth of the hand that, one day, by chance, rested in mine.


One thought on “Memory of a dance

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