He said it takes two to tango,
But left her spinning in a storm of her own steps.
She began with the opening walk—
Slow, deliberate.
Her body an invitation,
Her eyes locked on his,
Waiting for him to claim the lead.
But he hesitated at the threshold,
Fear pooling in his chest like poison,
While she extended her leg—
A bridge he refused to cross.
She tried those figure-eight steps—
Winding around where his frame should be,
Her hips a language
He pretended not to understand.
Round and round she turned,
Carving circles in the floor,
Each pivot a prayer,
Each step a confession:
I am here. I am yours. Take me.
But he stood cold at the edge,
Watching her twist and spiral,
Her dress blazing red against the darkness,
As she fell deeper into a dance
That was no longer theirs—
Had it ever been?
She reached for that moment
Where bodies melt into one shadow,
Where breath becomes shared,
Where the line between dancer and dance dissolves—
But she embraced only air,
Her limbs grasping at ghosts,
While he retreated further,
A spectator to her desperation.
What if you changed? he whispered,
Like she was the one who murdered the music.
Yet she was left alone
In the cathedral of his absence,
Trying to resurrect a rhythm
From the corpse of what they’d been.
She traced half-moons with her feet,
Crescents of longing
Cut into the wooden floor,
Each arc a wound,
Each curve a question:
Why won’t you hold me?
She waited for the dip—
That moment of surrender
Where trust becomes flesh,
Where falling becomes flying—
But his arms never came.
She collapsed backward
Into empty space,
Her spine arching
Toward hands that weren’t there,
Trusting in nothing
But the hardness of the floor.
It takes two?
Then why was she the only one bleeding?
Why was she the only one
Trying to keep them from crumbling
Into the silence of his cowardice?
He abandoned the floor,
Left her there with the ghosts
Of steps never taken,
Of embraces that died
Before they could be born.
She danced on—
But she danced alone,
Her shadow the only partner
Willing to follow
Her descent into madness.
And when the music finally died,
She stood there,
Chest heaving like a broken bellows,
Lungs clawing for air,
Dress torn,
Heart scattered across the floor
Like wilted rose petals
No one would ever gather.
Her feet raw,
Her soul empty,
Still waiting
For a partner
Who was never brave enough
To dance.
