I love infatuation. It's so much fun. And when you're in love with a dead guy, he always does exactly what you want him to do.
Oh, Osvaldo Zotto, your dance makes me cry. It gives me orgasms. It makes me reconsider the meaning of life. A rotten shame about the drugs.
I know it would never work between us if you were alive. I want to be you—minus the tormented obsessive side, so not really you at all—and then there would be two of us in one relationship, and that would never work.
But finding my inner you is my new purpose in dancing, and I've never had such a clear direction before. I admired Virginia Pandolfi and appreciated her cry of freedom and conversational liberty for all free legs. But how do I love thy dance? Let me count the ways. It's not about whether you turn your leg out or in, so much as it is about your courage and intense presence in each moment. Your brother is the bailarín. You are the milonguero. Your heart is the one bleeding all over the floor. Let it bleed. There's a thousand women standing by with mops.
That perfect technique sure helps you get naked. I'll steal your undulating footwork and your way of stepping en el compás, from moment to moment, and your pauses, and your way not moving in any way except how the music forces you to go. I'll steal your stillness and your grounded ferocity, your “I am just a simple man caught up in something much bigger than me” schtik, and your weary dark passion.
I understand that you probably want to get to know me better first. That's fine. You can be my next teacher. I will watch lots and lots of YouTube videos of you, not really get what you're saying or doing, go home and futz around a lot, and bit by bit accidentally stumble upon whatever it is you'll have been trying to tell me for a billion years. It will be exactly like having a live teacher, only a lot cheaper.
Financially.
Also cheaper in other ways.
Osvaldo Zotto, this may just be the perfect relationship. Neither of us will ever let the other down. You'll always be there for me, you'll never betray my trust, you'll never act like a dick, you'll never play any mind-fucking games, you'll always give me exactly what I need and want, you'll always challenge me to grow, and I in return will never need to throw temper tantrums, skulk, or say painful things to you. Let's go together, you and I, into the future.