I set my alarm at eleven o'clock to be on time at dance classes. This is a course of Zumba, Latin and African dance ... I do not know. I go every Saturday morning, even when the night before was white, even when the day has been watered, even when my head weighs a ton in the morning. Nothing in the world I will not be at the rendezvous.
The first few times were tough. Because the aggressive movements, daring, sudden and intense personality conflict with my quiet and reserved and my body tired and lazy.
That said, I quickly became addicted. Drum music makes me heart beat, I like the sensual movements and energy that is released makes me happy all weekend. There is also Marco. Gay prof who became a good friend.
all started with an error. I supposed to be in a yoga class. But of course I was wrong studio. And it took me a good thirty minutes to understand (until then, I was fully convinced that it was a kind of yoga I did not know).
Marco had started the course with a statement that I liked illico: "This is not a dance class. This is a party. "
And every week, actually looked like during the evenings wildest. Until she made her entrance. I would have guessed, I would have felt I could have sworn without even looking back. This woman who for some time sharing your day. And ask me how to focus ...
My eyes were fixed on her, my legs refused to move and the voice Marco crying so I could not react to wake up.
His blond hair and silky on his back, his ability to remember the steps in a split second, his legs two feet, his blue eyes, his bronzed skin clean and yes ... I hated it. And worst of all ... I was sure, his attitude completely relaxed, she did not even know who I was.
I imagined everywhere. In your kitchen, sipping tea in the cups I bought in your living room on the couch that I myself have tried wine, then hidden with a pillow, on your terrace and I have long decorated in your bed ... traitor.
I had a thousand reasons to hate her, to convince Marco to allocate it for some reason ... maybe because she dances too well.
And I can not describe to you the effort which I have proof to support it, to see her, to accept it, to convince me that you are not an object and I'm not allowed of you claim.
But I ended up loving it. Crime I promised myself not to commit. That may be because of our movements in sync. Our shared laughter. Marco. The false-yoga. Our love of the drum. His natural kindness that I ended up accepting. Our emotional release in dancing. Punctuality of our common Saturday morning. And I confess my love I do not wish him the same fate.
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