I Was Never a Graceful One

I was never a graceful one. I always would be so unsure on my own feet, it was scary. I’d always wanted to dance, but that would have been tragic. I shied away from that embarrassment when I wondered how I got around most days. It was like I lived my life on ice.

Then I met you.

I was always graceful after that. You melted the ice and turned my days into a complex choreography. I got it all; you became so much to me. You were the lift to my bound. Everything was right. Never before did I see it took two to tango.

Then I lost you.

I was on the uneven footing again, only different. I couldn’t breathe anymore either. It was like someone literally took my heart and lungs away from me. Leaving me cold and empty, without the march to move and the breath to breathe, everything went dark. The ice was back in black.

Then I found you.

I was just learning how to live again. How to breathe again. How to walk again.  I was finally almost myself again. Then you came and tried to reengage my partnership in your tango, you tried to grab my heart again. But it’s hard to grab something that’s not there.
“How have you been?”
“Not well. You have my heart and lungs, I need those to survive.”
“You have mine too, that’s how you’re living.”
“You’re on thin ice right now.”
“I know.”
“You’re on my ice right now.”
“I know.”

Then I taught you.

I was able to open your eyes to the reality of the world. I gave you a lesson not learned in the halls of learning. It’s not the strength of the dancer, or the simplicity of the steps. I learned that you can be graceful on the ice, once you learn to slip and slide.