In one past life I was a ballerina, I would dance to the song of some of the most famous opera singers of the time in large concert halls with orchestras and wooden ceilings that had been painstakingly nailed by hand piece by piece to ensure acoustical perfection.
We glided across the stage light as feathers, our feet flying in time to the symphony in an effortless trance as if guided by a magical spell. An enchanting lure of passion and dreams as if a marriage of music to the soul.
Eventually years of starvation to ensure perfect weightlessness gave way to damaged feet and broken bones. A career finished by 23, collapse of a soul and shattered ideals, the river called out its offering of eternal solace and once again I followed obediently.