Beauty And The Beat

     Heh. Oh man. He was amazing. God, he was beautiful. The way his body slid through the air, his arms bent in impossible, unbreakable shapes. He moved through the air like water, driven to the music like a moth was driven to a candlelit flame. One foot forward, one foot back, now twist. And jump. Soar, like you have never known a greater freedom. I believe in you. He'd started dancing in those high school halls, inspired by the seemingly effortless beauty. He had a natural talent, but he had turned it into something amazing. He was beauty and grace and he was pain. But he loved it. He loved it more than life itself and even now when I look at him, I can tell. He loved it more than he could love any single person and dance soon consumed him. It became his identity and who he was. He didn't have a single significant other. He had dance.        
     People would say, "Who are you? You're incredibly talented but I've never heard your name." And he simply smiled. "I am music. I am passion. My name doesn't matter, because I am anybody I want to be."
      Dear God, I wish I was still him because here I am, stuck watching him from this goddammed hospital bed. I can still hear the awful crunching of metal and the smell of petroleum and the smoke and the pain like no other in my legs. And I can still hear someone screaming, trying to rip my them out of my body, away from the fire. I will never forget looking down and seeing shards of bone impale my dream. I want to dance. Dammit.
      I swear on my life, I loved him more than words could ever describe. I loved the way his body sang and every night since then, he has done nothing but occupy my thoughts. It's amazing what you treasure when you lose everything; when you realize what you've taken for granted. Those words still ring in my ear; I remember it so vividly. How could I not?
     "I'm sorry. There was nothing we could do. We had to cut off your legs."
      I don't want to think about this anymore. I just want to keep watching his last preformance. The best of his career. Even so, I can't seem to stop replaying that night in my head: every moment, every thought, and every dream that was destroyed in an instant. And I wonder if there is something different I could have done. There's an impossibly thick wall between us and I can't stop screaming, begging for him to hear me, but he doesnt recognize me quite yet.
      If I had just one wish, it would be to go back in time, because for some reason it hasn't sunk in yet that he was me and that I'll never dance again. What can I say? Everyone was right when they said the first love is always the hardest.