Floors don’t dance, people do

I don't dance much — but I knew a girl who did, and she was beautiful. The passion in her eyes and the hunger of her spirit were something unusual to the semi-conscious zombies of society, that mope around with eyes tethered to their electronic captors. It was like she loved something, and I loved that. She wasn't good with words, always stuttered and tumbled over herself while trying to speak, but she could dance, she could silhouette the wall will the excellence and beauty of a princess. So every time she fell over her feet trying to speak, it was a cute and welcomed contrast.