Please send me your last pair of shoes, worn out with dancing as you mentioned in your letter, so that I might have something to press against my heart. ~Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
my day, my morning, my experience always varies with the sound of my own mind. when there was just one girl, one moment, one truth, there was nothing to do but live and feel and absorb the futility of it all. but i woke up and i shed the skin and i was raw and pure and disheveled and honest. where i woke up and felt my legs, still strong and smooth and pliable, i remembered who i once was and it is not something i can revisit in the same way. when i look down i see an old pair of ballet slippers and turn-Point!-turn-Point! and i remembered flying. they would notice but they never understood how it felt, how i feel when my stomach and breasts and face are pressed against the floor, and there is no more give.
i can’t tell you and i can’t see you and you’ll never know because you weren’t there, you weren’t inside of me, you – none of you – knew how it broke my heart in half to lose that path. now i wake and i am still reminiscent of that girl in ways, i am not as lean but i am strong and i am not a girl but i am a woman and i look down and i close my eyes and when they open i see the crowd and i hear the music and i am back in that moment. but now when i dance there is no crowd, there is just a girl pointing her toes as she stands in the grass, just a girl who lets her legs go into the splits during her yoga practice, just a girl shakin’ it when she’s in the kitchen, just a girl who now would like some boy to ask her for a slow dance. who won’t compare me to that girl, that dancer. someone who won’t need that girl, who just wants who i am today and all that comes with it, with the way i move now, with his hand on the small of my back, guiding me.
i am still strong, i am still a dancer, i am just not what i once was. i am new. again, raw, pure, disheveled, honest. with layers that still need to be peeled back. no assumptions, no guesses, just truth. i dance when i want to dance, love when i want to love, it’s all i know how to do.
Dance first. Think later. It’s the natural order. ~Samuel Beckett