That move, where she turned away in sync with the key change and a stole furtive glance back, it got me every time. The haze from the smoke machines masked the neon dance floor in pastoral veil, and for a while it seemed we were in an English romantic novel – her white blouse a beacon in the countryside entreating her darkly clad lover. Just as such words on a page would be, the mind’s image of this is eternal, and even if the meaning of the moment may diminish with time, the intensity of the memory may still burn.

She would turn back to me, and away again, following the prompts of the music, the momentum of her body, and the instinct of her mind and soul, and I would do the same. Perhaps that is why we returned over and over, to the same place to the same music, to the same dance. Perhaps it was a way, maybe the only way back then, to feel completely, and safely, in sync with and within someone else.

-Danny Grosso