She’s falling, on every twirl, every leap, on every step. She’s tired, frustrated, and feels lost. You watch silently in the shadows, in the center of the empty audience seats, smiling at her attempts. She’s an angel, you comment quietly to yourself. She’s a little bird with broken wings trying to fly off the tree branch.

It’s not a dream, you tell yourself because she’s floating, because she accepts your hand without a second thought. You catch her when she falls, you hold her breath when she needs air, and you take her hand when she needs you. But that was a moment in the future, right now; you’re just sitting and watching quietly, admiring.

You, Jin, are not one to be sentimental. You’re all flashy and cocky, y and so very different from the ever quiet, hardworking, elegant Meisa. You two were polar opposites. Two stars from two different galaxies. She wouldn’t look at you twice if you were the last man on earth.

You would have ignored her like every other girl on the street and go for the models and the idols of the entertainment world.

But when Meisa cries, with a deep wound in her fragile heart, fearing of her future, fearing of the failure that has come upon her, all alone in the dark of the stage, and wanting to give up everything, you’re on the run to catch her before she slips.

And you wonder how this blossoming love has occurred, how you fell in love with a foreign girl, dark skin and round eyes, long straight silky hair and a glare that penetrates the wall.

You don’t want to let go of her because man, she’s so hot and two, because she looks at you, your soul, not through you.

She finds all the flaws in you and twists it around…well sometimes. She calls you baka when you drink, calls you a bad word when you make fun of another [ugly poor] girl’s misfortune.

She dances to the melody Bolero and you dance to harmony of Lovejuice.

They always say, polar opposites attract and somehow you don’t want this moment to end. She’s all over you and you wonder if all good girls were “innocent” as they said they were.

She calls out your name, “Jin, Jin, Jin” and you let out a shaky whisper, “Mei-meisa.”

And then you wake up, alone in the dark, and her bedside empty. You’re late for her recital and you rush out, messily dressed and raced down to the ballroom at the corner of Tokyo.

You don’t want to disappoint Meisa and see her tears. You’re not like that anymore.

You want to see her foreign moves across the stage, dancing and reaching for her dreams.

~owari~