One, two, three, four, TURN. One, two, three, four, NO!
It's not working, darling. Your mind isn't what it once was. When we were young, we would walk the balance beam, counting each heel to toe with a clockwise turn on the fifth step and repeat. Back and forth for our whole life, you fought to hold control, pushing me down, teetering on the edge. This foot chase where you're slowing down, closing the gap for me to overpower. Let me take over, darling. I know you're tired.
One, two, three, ugh, four, TURN, no-no-no-no-no. *Inhale.* And one, two, three.....
You have to breathe. You know what happens when you don't breathe. Your mind gets cloudy and you lose me. You know you need me. We need each other. KEEP BREATHING, DAMMIT. Oh no, I'm sorry. You know I'm so sorry, darling. I didn't mean to scare you. It's all going to be alright. You know I wouldn't lose you. I'd let you keep all the good, taking the pain myself. This is what is what is best for us. I am the anecdote to the poison that has wasted your life away. I will breathe life into us, fill the void of this empty husk of a body that you have carried us in through our existence. I know you have tried so hard to hold on. It's time you let go. GO. LET GO!
One, go, two, away, three, away, please no, please turn. Please just one, two.....
Alright, you stubborn, worthless, bastard. It's my turn. I've watched you screw us over and I. Am. Done. I am done watching through these eyes that can't see what a waste of space you have taken in this world that cast us away. I am done planting seeds of hope in our mind that you can't bother to water because you are too weak. I am done failing by doing things your way. Your time has fallen.
For the first time, I open our eyes. NO. My eyes. I have taken over. You are gone, I have won. It's time to take back what has been mine all along.
They let me go. Four years of my life. Gone.
I didn't get to say goodbye, and no reason was given.
It's half past midnight now and I wander the maze of streets, ignoring the cars slowing down and the whispered propositions "How much for the night?" A dancer's craft is never respected.
'What's the difference?' you ask. The real-life pretty woman clad in 8-inch platform heels clanking the pavement and eyes seemingly longing for some solitary company.
I wanted to be in the ballet. Dreams of Giselle haunt my sleep, a tease of what could have been. Becoming the tease was the only resolve to cure what's deep inside.
When you can't dance, the only option is to fly by the wings of a needle, and I sought sweet salvation. Along the way, I was stopped by an old man "It's waiting there for you." He wrapped two bone-chilled wrinkled hands around one of mine and chuckled.
"No, I'm waiting for it," I sigh.
His face turned to stone. "What if you are it?"
Abruptly frightened of this thing that I've become, I yanked my hand away from his. I was falling, shot from the sky, bracing for an impact that I couldn't find, the abyss had no end.
I know that I must do what's right, but how could I do that when I was numb to what was wrong?
Upon landing, the rising sun brought rain, cleansing the sins of the night. I lay prone on the grass, free of all troubles. A new day. I pick up the needle again "It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you," I said aloud and sunk deeper, ready to fly once more.