Ballet

Next week I'm going to submit my body to a week's worth of plies, stretching, barre work, arrabesques... the arches of my feet enhanced by bloch elastosplit canvas, you can hardly call them shoes. I love ballet. I can't understand, or explain why... there's no freedom, only restriction. Muscles are forced unnaturally and feet wrecked, yet there's grace behind the pain, light creeping through the darkness. Far corners of my mind awake from years of slumber, feet and arms beat unfamiliar rhythms, sweat slides down my back, and in the corner of my eye I see someone in the mirror. She isn't me. For a flighting moment I leave myself and find newness in an assemblé.