She stood there, half hidden in the shadows of the threshold while stretching lazily against the railings of the porch. She wore a peach toned dress, carelessly crumpled at the skirt to look like petals. Barefoot, as she liked to be, she held her shoes by the tips of her fingers, swinging them back and forth. The silver embedded in their straps glimmered like her eyes as they merged with the stars. With a rustle of her dress, she bounced to her feet and held out her hand waiting for him to take it.
“I’m going to take you to a dance.”
Maybe it was the sleep, maybe it was the stars in her eyes, but he didn’t question her. He simply looked down at his pajamas and murmured, “I’m not dressed.”
She shook her head and grabbed his wrist, trying to pull him out through the door. He smiled at her struggles, the way that her face crinkled, before giving in and stepping calmly out. Walking from behind, also barefoot, he watched as she twirled ahead, leading him to get lost in the dark with her. He went along willingly, soaking in the brisk midnight, calling out to her before she could disappear completely;Â his perfect photo.
He waited patiently as she ran ahead and around the abandoned park, hair flying about like golden feathers on her wings, throwing each glimmering shoe towards the moon. Her dress made it look as if she were drowning in cherry blossoms. After she was done, she jumped on his back, and he carried her underneath the yellow construction tape and they made their way through the grass to the lamely standing gazebo. The rustic wood creaked with age under the weight of their feet, like dissonant chords of a once-beautiful melody. But she was happy nonetheless.
“Perfection,” He mumbled incoherently above her head, resting his cheek against her head.Â
It was supposed to be a simple rule, the only moral worth his soul. To protect, to cherish, to remember what was too precious to love. A single picture for one story. The perfect smile, the perfect laugh, the perfect tear. And then move on. That had always been enough. But now, there was more. Why? Because there is always more. Love makes for such long stories, he realized. Before he knew it, he was dancing with her in his arms, wondering what was in store for them next.Â
And it scared him.
He clung tighter as they swayed into the music around them -from the stereo she had somehow set up before they arrived-Â while getting drunk from the strangeness of it all.
