Sixteen years old, in the middle of my high school gym. The lights are low. A mirrored disco ball reflects the multicolored lights of a low-cost DJ. The lights caress every surface of this homecoming dance. We are the only two people on the glossy, wooden basketball court. My red, satin dress ripples around me. My tiara is pinned securely into my hair. All eyes are on us.

Nineteen and in the arms of a handsome young man with warm brown eyes and dark chestnut hair that is always perfectly messy. We circle the dance floor. I rest my head on his chest and I feel his chin settle into my hair. It is my dear friend’s wedding, but it might as well be ours. We are so in love and oblivious to anything else. His hand is on the small of my back and mine is wrapped around his neck, toying with his hair. Everything is perfect. For us, time has stopped.

Twenty-two. Our first dance as man and wife. My long white, satin gown clings to my slender frame. My veil cascades down my back and trails my movement. I gaze up at this man I plan to spend the rest of my life with and his blue eyes are locked with mine. They promise me forever.

Twenty-four. He spins me around the dusty floor of the crowded honky tonk. Indecipherable country music blares overhead and we laugh together. The tequila warms our blood and I am dizzy. This is, unknowingly, our last dance as husband and wife.

Twenty-six and I’m at my new sister-in-law’s wedding. My husband’s brown eyes light up as we dance for hours and hours. My feet are aching and my heart is longing for home, but goodness we dance well together. We anticipate each other’s every move. Spin. Turn. Dip. Turn. Spin. Over and over, one after the other. Those around us may be casting lots over how long our whirlwind marriage may last, but we do this well and everyone around us knows it.

Twenty-eight. His gorgeous green eyes gaze into mine. His broad shoulders tower over my small frame, exaggerated by the epaulettes of his pilot’s uniform. His scent is intoxicating as we slow dance together, a prelude to an adventure.

Twenty nine. He’s back in town. It’s been sometime since I saw him last. We decide to meet for a drink or two. We sit and chat, laugh. For a moment it’s almost like old times. Crazy by Patsy Cline comes on the jukebox and he holds his hand out to me. “One last dance, for old time’s sake?” I hesitate for a moment before taking his hand and allowing him to lead me to the tiny dance floor in the darkened pub. He pulls me close and it feels just like it used to. We always danced so well together. This was one of the only things that was ever easy for us. It feels so good, but as quickly as it started, the song ends. Just like us.

Each of these moments ended. In the end we all slowed down, took a final spin, and let go. I’m still saving the last dance for the one that won’t.