I was a dancer once.
That print was in the studio where I danced and that painting, well besides it being absolutely gorgeous, is one of my favorites because it’s pretty much the exact outfit I always wore.
I used to fling my body through the air and through space, freeing myself up unto the heavens.
It is one of the best feelings in the world.
I was a dancer and I loved it.
I don’t dance much anymore and it’s sad, but sometimes, sometimes in the summertime I find myself dancing again on the beach. It’s usually when the sun’s about to set and the crowds have gone home. Through the sand I move and glide and jump and twirl. I put some music in my head and I just dance. I jump through the sunlight and the salty air and I feel that feeling that I felt such a long time ago.
I was a dancer and I miss it.
That’s the thing about growing up sometimes. You don’t do the things you used to love to do. You find new things to love, and new things you’re good at, but sometimes you have to leave those old things behind. Or they get left behind somehow as you grow older and you’re not quite sure how to get them back.
I dance on the beach and I dance on my glossy wood floors from time to time, spinning around and around, but I don’t really dance anymore. And I miss it.
I miss it.
