My feet are motionless, the movement and urge has all but drained away. I used to cut rugs with these size 9s, I would move to the melody of dripping faucets because it had a beat, and I had a spirit that was free. No liquid courage induced my dancing, no prying, pleading, or prodding necessary. It was me, within me, part of me.
Situations changed, circumstances outweighed strength and integrity; the once simple two step had been turned into an undesireable tango. One that was a constant power struggle between the leader and the follower. There was only one way to stop that dance, someone had to walk away; so I did.
For a while putting one foot in front of the other was difficult again, my once free spirit that would move my body to the beat, was suddenly motionless, consumed by my thoughts and feelings of abhorrence. Minutes, hours, and days seemed to drag by; losing sense of time and reality, I simply went through the steps of familiarity and daily routines. Insomnia became a lifestyle, coffee was my wingman, and the sweet sounds of music didn’t move me anymore.
Just as I had confirmed my beliefs, assured my doubts, and thrown all promises I had to the wind; you walked in. You held out your unknowing hand and asked me to dance. My heart started to beat, becoming the tempo to which we began to move. I had given up and thrown in the towel to life, and just as I was letting myself fall, convincing my thoughts that being alone was better than being hurt, you caught me, dusted me off, stood me back up and slowly showed me how to move my feet again.
You came in on the right beat, at the right time, on the right count; to save me from myself.