Leaping high, legs extended, I land gracefully. Effortlessly. My body is a machine. Upon landing, I fold gently, rolling to the floor. Lean, limber and flexible, I fall smoothly into a split, exiting seamlessly. Choreographing as I go, I move with utter fluidity across the vast empty dance studio. I am free. My body is a tool for full-fledged expression. Music plays loudly in my head.
Some people dream of flying, but I dream of dancing.
I’m awakened by a sharp twinge in my knee. The swelling is going down, but the pain is intermittent. Getting up is awkward, must move slowly until the legs synchronize. I’ll never dance again, but I can dance in my dreams for the rest of my life.
Lost Art of Mystery 