"You don't dance enough." She said as she took me in her arms. "You're too young to dance so little." And she should know, she had been my age many years ago and she regrets not dancing enough.
Now, I've grown older and I regret different things.
Life seems like a long number of regrets that added up alright. And I still see her across the dinner table from me, smiling. And I put the regrets from my mind and place one foot in front of the other for fear of stopping, for fear of falling, and then I regret a life patterned in fear.
And I remember dancing in her arms. I am pulled forward step by step. Until I am overwhelmed by all the steps I haven't made. I hear her voice in my head again.
So I stop and take a deep breath. Start dancing again, but this time with enthusiasm and without thinking.
I hope she's watching.