31 days in november

iv. dance (till your heart burns, baby)

She is used to it, by now.
They see her roll her hips in tune to the pounding beat, they see her twist her wrists above her head and stomp her feet in the rhythm, they see it all up on the stage with the lights trailed on her.
But what they don't see is how she sings with her body, lacking words that were never required. She flies across the stars, above the moon, feet flying on the surface of the sky. She dreams and she flies for minutes at a time, the rest of her surroundings fading into background noise.
It's just her, the moon, the stars, and she is the comet shooting across the scintillating sky.
But he sees her, she knows that..
He's still watching her now.
Ever since the day he walked in, looking for his sister at the studio, catching her in the rawest part of her solo, she knew.
She's prancing across the stage right now, like a deer, as the other dancers around her swirl in a silent, save for the booming orchestra, prayer of sweat and costume and quiet faces. The dancers move in one body of motion and
With a crescendo, the music ends.
The audience becomes a tangible entity again, her wings are neatly folded behind her back, the world exists again, and she is only one of the many dancers on stage, chest heaving and drunk on applause.