D is for dancing.

You grabbed me and held me close, despite the humiliation I had just put us both through. An arm around my waist, a hand in my hair, and a whisper in my ear that this was what you wanted, that you could do this forever. We slow-danced to the Beastie Boys, a feat that in retrospect seems absurd, impossible, but it was infinitely possible and infinitely perfect. I should have known that this was the last time we would be together like this – it would have saved me a fair bit of dejection – but these were the days before I learned to see.