THE DANCERS WITH NO NAMES

It was before dancing was created, invented, found.

I did not know you, nor you me, but between us lay a magnet. We walked along the fairy-lit corridor, hand in hand but nameless. There was a musical sound in the distance where the rose bush wore a single thorn, and we craved it. We craved the adventure, the unknown, the danger. A sharp right turn revealed an eager stranger, soft-spoken with a roaring mind. We knew she heard the sound too, for her eyes shone like disco balls. We continued now as three, toward the melody, arm in arm, still nameless. Our steps became strides, leaps, bounds. Yet the rose bush grew only further, and the music only fading. A stained glass window of ocean blue cracked open and invited us in, us three strangers without names. Rose petals fell from the ceiling in perfect harmony with the rhythm and it was there, there and then, we discovered that the sweet sound was not above us, but within us. With a staircase it was our garden, without one a billion light years away. It was without one, but we were not without each other. We were there. Side by side. Dancing.

I did not know you, nor you me, nor us her. But somehow, us three nameless strangers, knew how to dance.

Dancing was never created, invented, nor found. Dancing just was.

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