It wasn't about the dance itself. It was about the way I put my hand on her tiny waist, the whole time having this feeling that if I swayed her a bit too hard she would fall apart into a thousand of pieces. She seemed so small and fragile in my hands. Her hand was warm, and as mine covered it, I could feel her shiver under the contact of my cold fingers. She adapted quickly, throwing a meaningless smile my way, even though she had no idea how much it affected me. And then I started moving my feet, switching balance from one feet to another, until we moved as one, until she followed every beat of my heart as if it was hers. So I moved to the right and back to the left and repeated it a couple of times, unaware of our surroundings while her warm breath tickled my neck. She had absolutely no idea what that did to me. And even if she did, she showed no sign of it. She was so ignorant at every move I made, at every word I said that sometimes I thought about how she must have lost her ability of reading people when it came to the ones she held closest. The same thing was with her husband, and now she was seeing no sign of what was obvious to everyone else - I was madly in love with her.

I pulled her around me, spinning us around together and she tripped a bit, but managed to stay on her feet with my help. The very next thing I heard was her laughter. And it was funny, indeed. I felt a laugh escape my lips as well, without me giving it permission to do so. Once again, it was not about the tripping, it was about the fact that she reacted to it by a laughter, that she felt so comfortable and not ashamed for it at all - it was simply funny. The laughter as well, sometimes it seemed that at the end of every day I needed to hear it, because then it would all make sense. I'd know that she had something to laugh about and everything would be just a bit better.

The proximity did its own part. Her head was leaning on my chin slightly, and I could feel the mix of her perfume and shampoo - sweet, but not too sweet; strong, just strong enough to feel it from time to time, but not strong enough to ever get boring. And her chest was against mine, so I could swear that from time to time I could feel her heart beating against mine, and it felt right. It all just felt so right.

But who am I to talk anyway? I've been adoring this woman for ten years and never managed to gather the courage to tell her so.

I know she's blind for actions, but I am mute for words.

So I guess this is just how it's meant to be.