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.