She was driving him home on the night of the full moon. She turned into the churchyard - all the sleepers were still - and parked, stilled the engine. The earth seemed to be breathing. They got out of the car and turned to look at each other. He switched the car radio on, and the music came flooding out. They circled round each other in perfect harmony, their movements echoing each other’s. They put their arms round each other, her hand on his shoulder, his arm round her waist. And there amongst the gravestones, they began to dance together. 

How it happened she was never sure, but they began to float. First an inch or two off the dusty ground, then a foot or two, then they were swirling slowly above the treetops and the houses. He was looking at her at last. Heaven can be another person, she thought. An owl flapped by them, and someone seemed to be playing a violin. Its tune made them soar upwards. 

And that was how love came at last. No gravity, but a searing sweetness. The night was deep blue. She hoped that the morning would not come. And for them, it never did.