Her heart sang when she first started tango, and no milonga was bright unless she was dancing. Men pursued her. Women envied her. But she became too much like Libertad Lamarque's Maldito tango, and her work went away, her children went away, and, finally, even her friends went away. She thought tango would fill her up, and at the end, it was the very thing that emptied her.
Tango is a conversation that is wordless, a give and take that is purely physical. You have to know when the conversation has ended.
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