I love dancing.

I’ve loved dancing since I was a young girl.

I danced until I was 14.

Even after I stopped my practice, the rhythm has never left me. It couldn’t even if I wanted it to.

You can still find me watching videos of dance, jiving in Zumba classes, and feeling my deep love for the art form intensify within me each time I hear a good beat.

I want to dance again, to throw myself into the music, to let go of all life’s worries through each magical movement. But I’m out of shape. I don’t move the same way I used to. Yet, I know with hard work, I could dance again.

What I desire even more than my ability to dance again is the seemingly unachievable dream of dancing with a man who knows how. Men don’t dance anymore, at least not where I live. And I’m not talking about the club-style bump and grind kind of dancing. I’m talking about that romantic heart-to-heart kind of dancing. I fantasize about romantic, in-our-living-room dances with my future forever person whenever I please.

To me, nothing is more alluring than a man who knows how to dance, especially one who knows how to dance well with a woman.

Some days, I’m heavy with the desire to feel the closeness derived from dancing with a man who knows how. But it’s been years since a man has taken hold of me on a dance floor.

I watch cheesy romances where a man takes a woman onto the dance floor and effortlessly swings her around. Or “The Notebook” scene when Noah takes Ally into an empty street to dance beneath the changing streetlights.

These cinematic moments allow my own imagination to run wild. I fall deep into thoughts of the faceless man destined to steal my heart someday. The man who will never hesitate to take me in his arms no matter what song is playing. I dream fondly and hopefully of my final dance partner.

I imagine our bodies close together. An intense force vibrating between us. My hand in his. My head resting on his chest as I listen to his heartbeat. Feeling his soft breaths in my ear. His hand grazing my lower back, easing me closer to him. Sharing that one perfect instance in the fleeting minutes of a melody where we steal each other’s coy glances.

I imagine slowly rotating in circles beneath the stars, streetlights, and strobe lights as the world around us falls away.

I don’t want the man who observes me from the side of the room while music reverberates between walls. I want the man who isn’t intimidated by leading me to a wonderful dance. I want the ardent man who proudly waltzes with me at his chest.

And it’s even more than that. It’s the divine pirouettes of two souls intertwining that I truly seek.

I want someone who is willing to dance with my emotions and afflictions. Someone who dances with me in adventure, triumph, and hardship. Someone who dances with me in both laughter and sadness. Someone who takes each step in the exciting dance of life and its uncertainties, which continuously unravel at our feet. Someone who whisks me away into a wondrous love. Someone who sees dancing with me as a sublime, eternal journey.

I want our dances to be a joyful routine or an unrehearsed groove. I want them to be raw, beautiful tangos of authenticity and vulnerability. I want mutual trust at every twist, turn, and dip as we sway to the cadences of any and all tunes playing in the background of our togetherness.

And when all things seem to fail or life shatters us beyond repair, I want our dances to save us. I want them to be a place of consoling, comfort, security, and protection. I want them to be a lovely safe haven we can escape to even if just for a moment. I want our dances to be a cherished gift.

I want a man, not just any man, but the right man to daily, wholeheartedly, and willingly choose to dance with me.

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