Dancing, the camera so close, so infringing on the intimate margin between her face and his chest, she tore her gaze from the lens. Awkward, having two camera men so near.
She turned in his arms, leaned towards him and he lifted her by the waist, and she lifted her leg, forming the shape of a four.
On the stage again, the cameras rushed with her as she leapt across the stage. When she stopped and stood to her toes, a camera met her at eye level. She looked directly into the lens.
"Oh." The man's left eye, peeking from behind the camera was impassive, clinical. Watching for details, for framing, light readings, anticipating her motion for the next syncronized movement.
Her man surrounded her with his arms, lifted her again, looped her body around his. She turned her face towards his. Her eyes met his. He was behind a veil, considering the next move.
She danced alone, on the stage.
This story was inspired by Pas de Deux by Galen Summer: http://bit.ly/cj4QbD
A very thoughtful piece. I'm still thinking about the ending.
Glad to have this back online for the decade anniversary.
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dancing meaning passion enumeration critics a way to make your soul grow Passion