(This should be read while listening to the song "Flightless Bird and American Mouth" by Iron & Wine. I was listening to that song when I wrote this.)
The room was vast, lit only by the soft amber light of thick candles that had been burning for hours. The late night gave the room a somber heavy feeling - as if the bustle of the dance had been a heavy burden, gratefully cast aside.
She entered slowly. Her bare feet making soft padding noises on the smooth wood floor. This room always held her in awe. The Grand Ballroom. Stately windows on all sides, exquisitely draped curtains framing them like antique edging around faded photographs.
She inhaled deeply. The smell of the room was her favorite smell - candle wax, perfume, food, people, early spring....
She quickly moved into the center of the room, claiming her place for the dance. Her Dance. The dance of her heart.
She only heard the music when she was alone. The room only sang to her when it was empty.
She raised her arms as if to embrace a partner. Slowly stepping in time to the music of the room she moved carefully, confidently through the space with the silent invisible partner that always waited for her. It was her companion, her friend. They had talked many times in this way - her bare feet on the floor, the music of the silent room beating through her veins. They told each other their secrets, shared each others joys, comforted their sorrows. She didn't know who she was without this. The room never sang to anyone but her. And she never wanted to hear another song.
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