Milonga Triste, Milonga de Amor

My heart sank because of him, for the last time, at the Milonga last night. One could say that having your heart broken at a tango club while listening to the tortured, melancholic swoons of the bandoneón, base and violin is an Argentine right of passage. I wasn't so amused. But I suppose it's both an agonizing and redeeming place for it to happen. The couples swirling around you - so in tune, two bodies merged into one - can be an instant, very carnal personification of what you wish you'd had in the relationship that's crashed to the floor, and what you hope to have the next go-around. Tango is perfect love, in slow motion.

The tango consists of seven steps, danced toe to toe, heart to heart, led by the man. From the moment they step off, even before as she waits for him to give the first signal, the woman must read her man. She follows his lead, allowing him to decide when they'll take the next step. She neither hesitates nor hops-to, though. She slowly slides her toe in the direction he's indicated in an extended tendu until he decides they are going somewhere else, which forces her to join her two feet together in a staccato movement in preparation for the next languid step. She's sometimes held in suspense, literally on her toes, as the man rocks her back and forth, teasing and seducing her into reading his every step. Those are the most visibly tender moments, when you see a woman's face tightly nestled between his shoulder and neck, eyes closed with a smile, listening to his heart, enjoying the seduction. And this is where she finds freedom, to enticingly draw circles with her toe in a ront de jamb motion around his foot or lift her leg in a développé up the side of or between his legs, rubbing her calf against his thighs on the way back down. Sometimes the man holds the woman in this moment of liberated suspense forever, enjoying her sensual expressions too much to move on.

It's absolutely captivating to see a couple dance that is really connected and understands the rules of engagement enough to open themselves up and improvise their own pas de deux. Some of them are so intimate, and so obviously reveal how a man and woman interact off the dance floor, both in everyday life and in the bedroom, that it almost makes you feel like a voyeur. You see their feelings for each other, their weaknesses, their strengths on full display. For it's quite obvious that you can't dance the tango well with someone unless you open up and give them your all. How fitting, it's the same with love.

I took no pictures last night, forgive me. I chose instead to live the moment. To watch them give and take and become one, lifting me out of my funk and inspiring me to keep going. In search of my own partner.