He came, and we danced. We held each other close, staring into each others' eyes. We swayed in autumn night air, the fire in the open hearth crackling behind us, the sound of the ocean before us soothing our tender nerves. We talked about loss, and pain, and consequences, and reaffirmed love, and admitted fear.
We danced for over an hour, just holding each other, the dark energy in his hands sinking through me, into me, prickling along my skin. And then...he was gone.
And then...the talk began. And the talk went on for some hours. And the talk...did not go well. I needed to go off and contemplate mortality, and inattention, and mistakes, and general cluelessness, whispered truths and spoken confidences, and all that I now cannot speak of. After wandering the graveyard off the dance square, I discovered an inlet of sea, and rather than change, I just sank to the bottom, steadily inhaling water. It didn't kill me; I didn't expect it to. But it wasn't comfortable.
I didn't want to be comfortable.
Then I sat and watched the moon rise, feeling never so comforted as before. I'll have to get used to that...
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