Slow Dancing in A Burning Room

*Inspired by the song "Slow Dancing in a Burning Room" by John Mayer*

I am alone, on a Thursday evening. I feel free with the lack of sorrows, as would an ordinary man. I am an ordinary, mediocre man. The kind with the hope that with every passing day he will be richer for the experience, ready to hop over the thresholds that he believes to be hurdles today, but despises the time this process takes. Yet with the same deficiency I feel burdened. Sorrow gives me the freedom of pretense of hope that activity will follow. But on that Thursday evening, I decided to play fate with my destiny of monotony.

I enter the restaurant and witness the want of people for it's survival. Ideating extrapolations of my sincere concern for humanity, in the process conceiving images of my own destruction in the process frightens me for a moment. The most magnificent of bounties that nature provides to a man for the ocean of attention he has to offer, in the corner sipping the glass of Pinot Noir as I would like to believe, however, cannot help but distract. My hesitation kills me. I am alone, on a Thursday evening with the prospect of making it into something meaningfully uncommon. Recollecting my resolve, I stopped reasoning with myself. I walked towards her and sat on the chair next to hers.

Awkward silence. After a few perplexing minutes of staring at each other, I believe we decided independently and concurrently not to speak for the rest of the evening, but acknowledged our existence as separate from the remainder of the universe. I don't remember her blinking or lifting her glass of wine, which I know by now not to be Pinot Noir, but I wasn't looking for signs to consider or ignore. In fact, it would be comfortable, but inaccurate to classify my being as aware.

A few grungy notes of music prompt John Mayer to begin. It's not a silly little moment, it's not the storm before the calm. Incognisant of the blur beyond seven paces of where I stand, I stand up and ask her for the dance that was always meant to be. I can't seem to hold her like I want to, so I could feel her in my arms. She takes proverbial charge, as if she knew everything I didn't. She did. Flames light up in chorus somewhere in the midst of the blur I still don't notice, but I can feel the heat. Sweet sweat beads collide with each other in harmony with the music to remind me if I ever forgot. I follow her step, one by one. We liquefied into something abstract and took proverbial charge to direct John's tempo. He never complained. I take her hand, she takes my shoulder and we exchange whatever we never had before, but had developed. One little bead tells me we're slow dancing in a burning room.

I was the one she always dreamed of. She was the only light I ever saw. After what seemed to be instants separated by intoxicating fumes, but were minutes we hear the riff and trust it's time. It just is. We're going down, she could see it too. She knows that we're doomed. As the flames slowly engulf us completely, we come closer to avoid getting burned. Should we? I think we ought to have known by now. When we were close enough to feel the last few deep and dying breaths of the love that we had been working on, the music fades.