Sometimes I forget music.
It just becomes background, noise, the buzz of a refrigrator.
The lack of silence.
But then I remember: I was turned away from the stage when I heard his disembodied voice.
He was across the room from me, but I could swear I felt his breathe on the back of my neck.
As I danced, as I floated it wasn't the bodies that I was held by.
I danced to his voice.
I danced for his voice.
I knew he would be beautiful before I ever saw his face.
Pure - a voice. A face. A body.
His mouth breathing a soul into the microphone.
I could have loved him.
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