like satellites
There was little we could say,
even less that we could do –
to stop the ice from getting thinner
under me and you.
"Don't do this," he said, the words quiet against her ear. He held her close, revolving around the dance floor. Like ballerinas on a music box, alone in the centre of the room, pairs of strangers orbiting like satellites.
"If it wasn't me, it would be you," she replied, and her eyes flickered briefly to his solemn face before she turned her face, resting her head on his shoulder and gazing sightlessly onward.
"You look so beautiful tonight." And he was speaking truthfully, no agenda, with a hand resting on the white satin that covered her back. She smiled.
"Let's just enjoy this."
They spun, slowly, glowed like the golden fire of a dying candle. Glazed eyes, half-closed, sipping slowly on a fading sensation.
"I can't," he said, pressing his hand tighter against her, tighter into him.
"We'll learn," she said, leaning closer, yielding.
They breathed together, momentarily synced inside the tiny space they'd created within that giant room.
"How?" He was tense, afraid; he slid his fingers across her fabric like searching for a lifeline, for something to hold onto.
The song was ending.
"It'll be okay," she said, pulling back to look at him. And they looked at each other. Eye to eye, so close, a slight and infinite space slithering between them.
She gave the smallest smile.
"We'll be okay," she repeated.
The music stopped.
"We'll be okay," he repeated. His offer at trying. Wrapping his tongue around the taste of believing.
They let go, eyes and smiles lingering, and they turned and left to different places.
Another song started, and the satellites began to spin again.
It saddens me to say
what we both knew was true -
that the ice was getting thinner
under me and you.
The song is "The Ice is Getting Thinner" by Death Cab for Cutie. I own neither CCS nor the song.