; The dance
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The dance

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									                                       The dance


I am like;

The old man in the plaza dances to the music of a long forgotten song, he dances to the forgotten
memories of his youth, now painted by liquor and fear. He dances with his slightly soiled blue polyester
guajavira, his trousers made of wrinkled material, his shoes beautifully scuffed …telling the story of the
path that he had chosen. He dances with every one of his memories of the ladies of his life, memories of
the nights, memories of the tears, memories of his loves. The music now sooths, cloaking him,
protecting him, shielding him form the memories around him. The music moves him around and around,
around the plaza, around the memories of wishes that never arrived, the memories of the hopes
crushed, memories of love…lost.

I;

dance to music not yet heard, to music with one note, to a dance that has one last step. I dance and
dance… I dance

								
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