When is a mere thought so much more than a passing.... well, a passing 'anything'. Maybe when it begins to consume the thinker.

"We don't dance". I said it out loud, but it was obvious it barely registered on any level to him. The song, which I cannot recall specifically, was from probably 20 years ago and was playing over the store sound system. It didn't elicit a memory of a specific person or even an exact moment in time. But what it did do was bring to light a missing part of an otherwise pretty perfect love.

We don't dance.

In that moment, for those 2.5 minutes, I felt an actual ache inside. I wanted him to turn, grab me by the waist and pull me into him. I was screaming inside, begging to be crazy, carefree. I didn't care about the other customers around us, or the looks that would most certainly follow. I wanted to feel the closeness of that moment. I wanted to make a new memory for the next time I would hear those notes playing.

It didn't register. It didn't happen, and I felt a little part of me give up.

We don't dance.

So here I am. A late-40-something woman, wishing I could be that early-20s girl again... able to talk to her daddy.

Pink sings the perfect lyrics for my heart, although they threaten to burst it wide open - and not in a good way.

"Could you beam me up, Give me a minute, I don't know what I'd say in it. Probably just stare, happy just to be there holding your face...."

God, I miss the interaction with his brilliance. He had the right answer - always. And his soft flannel shirt hugs were... perfection.

What I wouldn't give for another day of childlike innocence. Being an adult is pretty much pure bullshit.