Cosmic dancer

I love music.

Seriously. That’s not an exaggeration. What’s not to love?

I mean, I get warm fuzzies with I hear the perfect progression of chords (G, G/F#, Em, A, D, A, Bm: brownie points if you can tell me what song that’s from).

I even consider some guitar solos to be sexy (Weezer’s Only in Dreams; my god, the build-up is hot).

Music is that perfect boyfriend, who never fails to make you smile at just the right time. He is there when you need him and compliments your every mood (the highest highs and lowest lows). He always has an answer. He’s, like I said, perfect.

And he’s not one-dimensional. He’s complex, with obvious strengths you notice when you first meet him or within the first few weeks of your relationship (catchy beat, fun chorus). But, he also has underlying secrets you only discover the more time you spend with him (deeper lyrics, perfect break-downs). He’s rarely boring, although he does have his moments. Sometimes he can get repetitive if he plays it safe and doesn’t try new things (sophomore album flop). He grows with you—maturing, perfecting.

I can’t seem to wipe the smile off my face when I’m dancing. I’m instantly so incredibly happy, ask anyone. It’s something about feeling music’s beat and responding in the most natural way possible: just moving what feels right (see: hips, toes, feet, hands, head, body in full).

It’s a give-and-take relationship. I absorb the music, but in return I dance more energy into it, supporting each note with a hip thrust, pushing the beat stead on it's course and energetically anticipating what comes next.

I always daydream about dancing with a love interest, as if that would be some fantastic intersection of energy and happiness. I’ve had it happen a few times in my life; experiences where I was able to recognize their value mid-happening , and accordingly store away in memory all the moment’s sights/feelings/sounds/surroundings as a keepsake.

But those moments are rare. Those boys are rare. Those connections are rare.

My friend Mikey told me today that, “well, we all know why I like to dance with girls,” suggesting a much less euphoric motivation than what I had in mind.

Meet the male dancing rationale: stimulation. But, honestly, I'm not let down. It’s their loss.

I’ve got no complainants. Even if there are only a handful of boys that can really get down and work it, my boyfriend Music is always down to meet me on the dancefloor, without fail and with all the right moves.