Little ballerina, dancing on the strings of my heart. Feathery steps fast and quick, hurrying in hope to escape the fate written to be molded similar to the man who fell as he lost his wings. Icarus who flew way too near the sun. My little ballerina, aren’t you scared to come too near? I can’t promise you anything but a scalded soul burned from every fire thrown to the defenseless creature. The walls built around the surface of an empty home.

Little ballerina, with your careful and deliberate movements, can you tell me how to escape an inevitable fall? Like him who didn’t listen to his father, wings burned by the scorching sun. Drowned out of life in the sea of endless waters. There’s no help for there’s no other who could foresee the inevitable fall.

Tell me why it is, that even in the soundless music you’re so beautiful to watch dancing. Hands and feet moving to the tune that you were the only one who could hear. Pulling me in the center of your world, slowly teaching me the music for a pas de deux, where hearts would tumble clumsily to each other but still, still, it was too beautiful for the world.

I wasn’t in the audience; I saw the beauty of the dance in your eyes.

Calling through the endless music, whispering your secrets and desires to have a one big and beautiful performance. The final act before the reverence.

I wasn’t part of the crowd, but to you I was t