The Dance

My dad always made me attend the church youth dances. Turns out that this was a good thing in one instance.

After a month of praying, and the tinniest bit of hope, I attended the February youth dance. Of course the theme was valentines, and we were all paired up in couples. At this dance I was put at a table by the girl that would bring me back away from the edge. The night went well, and I even danced with her TWO TIMES. I can't even explain the significance of that. But I'll try. 

I don't dance. I don't do physical contact at all. I can't remember ever really being hugged or held by my parents, and I didn't even have friends in elementary who would give my hugs, though I saw it around me. But this is not the story of my childhood, at least not yet. I will simply leave it with the fact that I have never really enjoyed dances. and previous to this girl, I would turn down nearly every offer to dance. And before the hate from the girls starts flowing, please understand that you don't know my story yet, and please know that for a time, the very sight of attractive people disgusted me. So don't lay judgement or hate on my refusing to dance with girls, iv'e already had my fair share.

So I danced with her, because I felt something, as though God were telling me that I had a chance at something. The following year and a half (approximately) was a journey together where we each overcame different struggles, and where I began to learn that it was possible for someone to care about me. 

The End

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