Slavka Bozovic\Remembering the Last Dance

Slavka Bozovic

Remembering the Last Dance . . .

I remember the events of the old evening, when I agreed to go to the ball with them, since then grief has been measured in decades a, my heart breaks when I think of that June night. It was our unique evening, I wore the dress he bought me, a hug shone around my neck instead of a necklace, and through a kiss he whispered to me: "My love, you will be the most beautiful tonight". Holding hands on the podium, we stopped, loud applause shaking the hall, we enjoyed the beauty we shone with and not realizing that this was our last dance. And now it’s like I hear those firm footsteps, and a striking expression sewn to the lash. As I intertwined my steps, I also touched the clouds and his firm hands turned me into a bird. There is still indescribable sadness in my heart, and the outlines of the time when the night was crowned, our last dance that is divine, the game of bad luck overshadowed everything. I still keep the cloak of blue tulle, I never wore his dress again, a sad swallow nestled in my heart it reminds me of dancing and lost love. Maybe sometimes he hears the melody of this song I will ask the wind to carry it to him, to whisper to him that my eternal restlessness remains, and packed pain in a letter without an address. . .

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