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.
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