This time, I couldn’t find my pink shirt as you found yours so I wore my black one.. perhaps because black was starting to suit me more lately.
Allow me to tie your ballerina pumps for you.. don’t worry, you’ve taught me how to make a good bow out of the ribbons. Off you commence my dear.. I’ll carry your worries whilst you dance. Need not to worry, I’ve carried mine so much that I’ve grown accustomed to it. Just like ballet. Ballet has definitely messed up several parts of our bodies, but it also made it stronger and more flexible. My body has become more prone to injuries and yet I’ve always been committed to make it to the end of the dance.
It’s been years we’ve always danced together.. we were a one of a kind, harmonic, symphony.. But tonight I shall not dance. Rather, for the time being, I’ll be content to just sit, ponder and watch as you rise and fall gracefully..
I, technically, see you but, subconsciously, I don’t. My mind is probably hovering somewhere else.. I’ve got this feeling one gets when writing a letter with black ink, carving the words with unease on paper.. I recall how at a certain point I was more alive, vibrant and definitely more joyful. And how unexpectedly , you happened to pass my mind every now and then. And whenever you did, you left not a smile but a resounding laugh that lightened life’s loads. You, my dearest friend, were there in times of need.. weren’t you?
I look at you; you’re now halfway through the symphony. Some people say that a friend who is far away is sometimes much nearer than one who is at hand. I say not. Those people have never tasted what distance feels like. Damn the distance that separates us my friend!
There are things I thought of telling you but retreated. Please pardon my awkward silence. I just can’t lift myself off anymore as before.. and that’s why am failing at pulling you up at your falls. I’ve withered my dear. I am not happy being distant and am not happy being near either. Am caught somewhere in between. And hell it is being in such a hazy grey world! The question is have you ever wondered why? why am I silent.. or where has the childish soul you’ve grown accustomed to gone? have you ever thought of asking me how am I feeling? and if I answer with “fine”, you would say “fine is not a feeling.. fine is just plain fine” and repeat the question? did it ever occur to you..?
My dear, if you do not water your rose, would it survive? ..
Now that you’re nearly done and am left with no answer to my thoughts, I stand up to dance ‘en pointe’. I slowly start a ballet pirouette, turning to see my gaze at the mirrors. A gaze filled by deep-rooted sadness.