Sitting in a corner of the tiny dance studio,
I watch her every move, not wanting to miss a thing.
I commit it all to memory, not knowing how long I have to view.
Taking photos in my mind, I file it all away.
Fingers gently resting on the barre,
Not too tight, barely there.
Cheeks flushed pink, slightly dew-kissed.
A renegade tendril brushes her forehead,
Escaping the tightly pulled regimen of gel and pins.
Toes trace a precise demi-circle.
Studio cat winds his way
Through his personal playground of dancing legs,
Bending, extending through the pain.
Pointe shoes thud, thud, thud,
Wood floor creaks and speaks,
As she becomes one with the music,
With herself.
Eyes focused and intent,
So full of beauty and life.
Pushing beyond limitations,
Ready to take on the world.
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