13th Floor - My Favorite Spot in Downtown Baltimore

Milonga La Bordeaux

Definitions of Milonga and Bordeaux.

-Would you dance with me? He hesitantly asked.

-Yes. She gladly replied.

There were nights in which she couldn't sleep and the ceiling was heavy and blurry. Her body ached and her mind floated around the room. There were cold nights in which she dived in nice music and solitude. There were nights in milongas and silent nights. There were nights of tears and questions and blame and and and and. There was a forest nearby, but she rarely dared to go in. Traveling can be such a daunting task when you are lost already.

There was one night that she danced and danced, not alone. His arms were gentle, his hands soft and dreamy. She was happy for she had found a place to be. They were discovering what he would call the Milonga La Bordeaux. The lights were dimmed and they had candles on the table. A closed book on tango rested on one side. She smiled. She avoided his eyes because that was a bridge to the land of the hearts. Their footsteps could be heard. It was late. The music was there, but it wasn't too loud. It wasn't loud enough.

Joy.

She wished she could paint that feeling.

They continued on dancing. She was hypnotized for a few minutes while the lyrics of a tango sang a sad story, while someone made a bandoneon cry his deepest sorrows. Her eyes closed, her soul finally awake.

At some point, they both rested and she recalls having their hands intertwined for a long time- as she can still feel his hand's warmth as she closes her eyes. That recollection, however, seems like a dream. Exactly like La Milonga Bordeaux.