dear diary,
strange. a night has three parts. early, before most people show up, i dance to transition from the "outside" into the tango world. the floor is empty; the music is easy; and i adjust my body and mind. then the floor is packed. the movements smaller, more intimate, more careful, more delicious. i am part of the energy that swirls around me. the night comes to a close. the floor opens again. i am flying. my steps are large. the music tugs at my heart. i am free...
when i miss any of these very different phases, the night feels... awkward, strange, unsatisfying. arrive a little late, to a full crowd, and i am unprepared for the onslaught. leave too early, then i miss flying down the lane.
i am so ridiculously fickle and demanding.
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