It was for her, that’s why Jessica started doing ballet.
At the age of fifteen and a half, she suggested doing ballet as a hobby, because Jessica had nothing better to do during her free time.
She liked watching ballet.
She liked classical music, romantic music, the beautiful voices of the violins and violas and the lilting airs of the flutes and clarinets, the deep, soothing tones of the bassoon, the cellos, the double basses, the music.

And Jessica liked her.

————————

“How’s the ballet going?” she would ask.
And Jessica would reply, “my feet hurt like hell.”
“You can stop if you want to, you don’t have to do it because I suggested it,” she would coo as she fixed up the the stray hairs of Jessica’s fringe as she ruffled her hair in annoyance.
“No, I’ll continue, maybe I’ll get a scholarship to some art college or something,” Jessica reasoned. And maybe I’ll be able to gain your love.

————————

Jessica is reminded of all the pains of her body as she stands atop her toes and faces the mirror of the empty practice room, observing her pallid skin and her fragile body. Her tights no longer fit her properly; her legs are too thin.
And when she stares into her dark, empty eyes she remembers the times when they used to be bright and full of ideals and hope.

————————

As Jessica finishes off her practice, with the final pirouette she spies the relaxed figure sitting at the back of the room, watching her silently. When Jessica turns around, panting slightly, she speaks.
“You looks beautiful when you dance, Sica,” she says.
“What, so I don’t look beautiful any other time?” Jessica scoffs in mock horror as she undoes her bun for the sole purpose of flicking her hair over her shoulder.
“You know what I mean,” she rolls her eyes.
“No, I don’t, Taeyeon,” Jessica teases as she moves closer and sits down, close enough so that she can see the crevices in her brown irises. It is unexpected, but Jessica hears the breath hitch in Taeyeon’s throat and sees her pupils dilate.
“I-I-I uh,” Taeyeon blushes. Jessica gives no response, and shows no reaction. She only observes the face and expressions of Taeyeon.
“Jessica,” she breathes, almost sighs.
“Hmm?” Jessica hums, eyes still taking in and memorising the features of the face in front of hers, even though she’s already done so plenty of times. Swallowing all her fears and inhibitions, Taeyeon raises a hand to caress Jessica’s perfect face.
“You look beautiful all the time,” Taeyeon says.
“Don’t lie to me, Taengoo,” Jessica smiles painfully.
“I would never.”
“What would it take for me to convince you?”
“How can I believe I am beautiful if there is no one to love me unconditionally?” Jessica laughs. It is mirthless, and Taeyeon can hear the heartbreak.
“I love you unconditionally,” Taeyeon mumbles.
“But I am simply a friend to you.”
“No. You’re more than that.”

“What am I then?” Jessica asks in no more than a whisper, and Taeyeon feel the breath on her lips, tempting her to press them against Jessica’s.

“You are my everything, my heart, my soul, my mind and my body.”
“Your body has some pretty gross feet, then,” Jessica chuckles, trying to lighten the tense atmosphere.
“Sicaa~” Taeyeon whines.
“Okay sorry. Continue.”

She clears , “you are more beautiful than the symphonies of Mozart and Tchaikovsky and the Liebesträume and the Consolations and I love you more than anything.”

Taeyeon waits for Jessica to speak.

She does not.

Jessica lets her lips speak with silent words and all Taeyeon can think of is a poem she once read:

Without meaning to,
    He’s disarmed me,
    with kisses that soothe
    and alarm me.

In arms that terrify
    and calm me.

“I fear that I cannot say the same to you, Taeyeon” says Jessica she holds her face tenderly.
Taeyeon freezes and her heart sinks into an abyss.
“I can’t say the same, because I feel that love is too inadequate a word to describe the things I feel for you, but until a better one is coined, I guess it’ll have to do, so I shall say I love you.”

————————

Sometimes Jessica dreads practicing. The empty mirrored walls and hard wooden floors hold many painful memories, just as they bear the better ones. And yet again, she dances, she dances to silent music, and only hears the sorrowful song of the heart encased in her glass body. And like many times before, she circles her wrist with her index finger and her thumb, a frail bracelet of bones and skin. Sometimes she wonders — no, she knows — what life would be like if Taeyeon didn’t go.

————————

“Jessica,” Taeyeon calls out softly.
“Yes, my darling, my love, my sweet, why is it that you want to meet?” Jessica’s poetic mouth speaks a rhyme Taeyeon desperately misses although she’s still there.
“Jessica,” she calls out again, her voice breaks and so does her heart. Tears threaten to fall.
Jessica hears this and runs over, “oh no, baby, what happened?” She wipes away the tears that Taeyeon doesn’t even notice.
“I have to leave,” she sobs.
Jessica smiles understandingly, “I know.”

Though it pains her, she mustn't cry. Her strength had to be enough for the both of them.
“I don’t want to go, I don’t want to leave you,” Taeyeon wails.
“My darling, my dear, you have nothing to fear, because over the seas the mountains and the rivers, so long as you think of me, I will feel my heart’s quivers,” patiently, Jessica Taeyeon’s heaving back.
“Stop that, your poems make me want to stay longer, and I’m afraid if I stay any longer in you arms I may never leave.”
“Taeyeon, if you fear I am stopping you, just remember I want to you to move forward.”
“What if I forget you?” she asks, fear laced in every word she speaks.
“If that is so, I cannot change that, but I will remember for the both of us.”
“You’re too good for me,” Taeyeon sobs harder.
“Ah, but no one else is good enough for you,” Jessica places a kiss on Taeyeon’s forehead.

————————

At times like these, when she is alone and afraid, she regrets not holding onto Taeyeon and instead holding on to her promise. Jessica has not forgotten, but she wonders if Taeyeon has. She is twenty-nine. Thirteen years since she began dancing. Eight years since Taeyeon left. Not a word had been heard from Taeyeon after the fifth year of her departure. 

When she tries to dance a full recital she simply cannot, and she knows exactly why.

An artist without her muse cannot create her art.

Pathètique.

 

 

 

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I barely speak French.

Not even enough for a conversation.

But Tchaikovsky's Symphony No.6 "Pathètique" is simply beautiful and as I remembered Gayane I thought of this story.