My hip ached by the third song and Hal’s knees are what they are, and we were both a little winded, and none of it mattered, because the dance was better than it had ever been when we were young, and I mean that plainly.

When we were twenty-two, the dancing was easy and it meant nothing; we did it because we could, because bodies that age just move, because the whole world was ahead of us and none of it had been tested.

This — two worn people on a Saturday night, having lost each other for a quarter century and clawed their way back — this dancing meant everything, because every step of it was chosen, and paid for, and nearly not had at all.

You cannot feel the value of a thing you’ve never come close to losing.