Poets is powered by Vocal creators. You support Megan Merrill by reading, sharing and tipping stories... more

Poets is powered by Vocal.
Vocal is a platform that provides storytelling tools and engaged communities for writers, musicians, filmmakers, podcasters, and other creators to get discovered and fund their creativity.

How does Vocal work?
Creators share their stories on Vocal’s communities. In return, creators earn money when they are tipped and when their stories are read.

How do I join Vocal?
Vocal welcomes creators of all shapes and sizes. Join for free and start creating.

To learn more about Vocal, visit our resources.

Show less

And She Loves to Dance

A Memoir of Young Love—#VocalNPM

You pull me real close to your chest, a split second is spent as you spin us once, hard and fast, and then we split. Two arms lengths stand between us and the only thing that remains are fingertips. Squeezing, clinging, pleading not to break. Another split second and I'm back, back in two full hands, back chest-to-chest, cheek-to-cheek. I think I can measure the space between them with a grain of sand.

Breathing is hot and I can't tell whose is whose; although I'm sure it's yours. With you being so close, mine gets trapped. Your face remains a stone. Serious, concentrating. Except when my smile gets caught in a glimpse, a whirl, that's when it lights. I watch for those moments. You measure every movement, keeping time with the music, while I focus on our feet from turning into a tangled knot; and the fact that I can't think for that split second where we are nearly one. We split again and I can breathe. Both mind and body. And then I want. Only for a moment, but it's there. I want to be back. Back in that grain-of-sand-between-us kind of close. And then I am.

Those split seconds, the transitions from too close to too far, too far to too close, are just enough time for the want to keep from becoming an ache and the proximity, the closeness, from becoming more than I can handle. I am caught in an endless cycle of thirst and quench. The song begins its end and my breath is held one last time as the length of me becomes parallel with the floor, wrapped and anchored, and then resurfaced, able to breathe again. Our faces mirror each other's smiles.

I think it's the changes in proximity, the breathing and the lack thereof, the hands and the arms, the glimpses nearly missed. I think it's the intimacy of it. Or the irony of feeling completely fearful and absolutely fearless all at once. The way it's possible to feel frightened and safe within the same motion, the same second in time. But mostly I think it's the other half to it, the partner. I think that's the real key. Because there's no sense in dancing really, unless it's with you.

Now Reading
And She Loves to Dance
Read Next
Tight