It’s been a long time since I’ve slow danced with anyone; I honestly can’t even recall the last time that I did. 

An intimate slow dance with someone you love trumps spontaneous sex with someone you just met. Locking eyes amidst the music, embracing every little detail about that person you wouldn’t have noticed otherwise; the smell of his cologne, the mole on her cheek, the definition of his jawline, that one strand of her hair that’s just a little out of place. Two bodies swaying to the mellow of the song. Two bodies, but one person during those four minutes. 

And as the last note rings, the silence that follows is comparable only to the silence followed by a first kiss, or a first “I love you, too.” The girl is speechless, the boy is breathless. But in the emptiness, everything is said. Everything is understood. 

I want to slow dance.