Once you told me if I were a little bolder the world could be mine.
Actually, what you really said was, “hoooo!” with your hand on your heart, like the thought itself set your soul on fire.
I never knew how perfectly captivating you could be until I got to see you on the dance floor. All bounces and dramatic pauses, fluid arms and full of life. I was pretty sure I wanted you.
I wanted you. How weird. How silly.
We were close, physically close, a different kind of physically close than we, together, knew. Hands around my waist instead of ruffling my hair. Pressed together electrically instead of comfortingly. Moving as one.
I held on because I was afraid you’d let me go.
You spun me, like we were five years old playing Pin-The-Tail-On-The-Donkey. I laughed because I felt alive and beautiful and daring and brave.
For the first time, I let myself truly feel how much I could love you.
There was a line. With us there’d always been a line, thin and daunting. We teased this line, le…