Tango

I can remember the feeling exactly three times.

Prince was the first. Taller, older, smarter, faster - the full package and the Ladies' Man. An idol engraved in a stone pedestal. It was only a matter of time before I discovered his Princess in his public declaration of love, asking her to the ball.

Sewage Blonde was the second. The prankster, the athlete, the untouchable. This one hurt less - I could only make out the dim shadow of two dancers that night of farewell. Seeya, written in loopy yearbook letters. Or not.

Orpheus came in a dream, with the lyrical melodies and harmonies entwined in his composure. The night on the cruise boat, replayed. The mysterious goddess caressed his figure, in a tango with his soft lulling words and poetic phrases.

Three times, I had braced myself. Three times, I felt the pain strike anyway. And in the distance, the music of the dance rolls on and on.