Magic was in the air.
As of late, I've been liking that word less and less. I hear magic, and I start envisioning only hours of grueling, mind-numbing trial-and-error processes, feel the searing stabs of knives and needles as I wear myself down to the bone trying to reach some arbitrary finish line a million miles away, running haphazardly and tripping clumsily in shoes still much too big for me to fill.
But this wasn't that.
This was a gentler magic—a kindly, less abrasive kind. Engulfing and enveloping like the tenderness of a warm hug. I could feel it everywhere: in the music playing onstage, the flamboyant and exuberant blur of tunics and gowns spinning all around. And most prominently, I could feel it in her…
In the look of her eyes, the touch of her hand. Through her strides, I'd follow, and with every pivot and twirl, it felt as if we were floating, flying; light, nimble steps effortlessly gliding across the square.
