Clementine had become a wild child. Born in America but raised abroad, she now had little regard for the expectations of high society. But her reckless ways eventually catch up with her when she is kicked out of college in New York City and forced t...
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At the very least, she had the studio.
Whenever things started feeling overwhelming, or a strange sense of guilt started to rise form within her, she discovered that the studio had an ability to keep her grounded.
That Monday, once all the glitter and glisten of the weekend settled down, and she got back from her time with Mina, exhausted after the straight and constant partying, she slept for half the day and then went into the studio in the afternoon.
Of course, she was allowed to go with the driver, considering it was only some time before that she got robbed around there.
And though lighting didn't strike twice, Clementine didn't mind. And she thought that in combination with her occasional 'bribes' or gifts, as she liked to call them, her parents were paying the driver / security guard more than enough.
Clementine put on her pointe shoes, and after a quick warm up, decided to try something new.
Instead of the typical, classical ballet music that she usually played and danced to all her life, she tried turning something else on.
She didn't realize it, but ever since she met Zico, she was making a playlist of songs that sounded nothing like her world. That sounded everything like him.
A combination of heavy tribal beats, and intricate melodies, at first Clementine was feeling...shy? Even though she was alone, she felt foolish trying to move to these rhythms there, especially by herself.
But this time, she let the music play fora little bit, and she found a rhythm that was her own.
She was starting to get into the groove of things, and it felt like freedom.
At that moment, among and despite all the pain that she's experienced, all the shame dragging her down, she felt the purest sense of happiness.
It was like a dawn, that came back to her, no matter after how dark the night was.
It was a happiness, that stemmed from expressing herself.
As she danced, she thought to herself:
Playlists are a love language.
bare your soul find your gold ; i am happiest in creation. I bloom in expression. To love is to express in its fullest form. It's what we remember most. It's what we live for. To live is to express so express yourself.
In that moment, it was so clear to her.
On one hand, how powerful all these forces were, and on the other, how much she was starting to understand. She was feeling the invisible.
She took out her phone and set it against the mirror wall. She wanted to record herself to remember this feeling, so that she could come back to it whenever she needed to.
And she had a feeling she'd need to in the future, come back to it again.
For a few songs, she let herself feel the music, and it was ludicrous. It was a combination of their world. The order of hers and the chaos of this created something completely new and liberal.
She let herself get lost in this new internal world she discovered, that is, until she heard a giggle, and her head shot to the door, with the small glass window in the centre of it - right midd pirouette as she was spotting on the wall.
A group of young ballerinas were watching her secretly. Some, mesmerized, and others laughing silly because of how un-classical it was.
She stopped them, and smiled at them, until she saw that they were all shooed away by an older woman outside the door.
