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“A dancer dies twice-once when they stop dancing, and this first death is the most painful.” -Martha Graham.

I danced for close to 17 years, it was my oxygen. My wings. Dance kept me going when I had nothing and no one. It was warm and cruel all in one embrace. Fighting and competing to better yourself until your breaking point, it’s all a dancer knows and when one wakes up one day unable to do so they’re lost. Wings broken. Unable to breath. Bleeding from a fantom wound only they see and feel.

It truly is a first death, for years I’ve been feeling around in the dark wounded, half alive searching for something. Something to bring back the oxygen dance gave me, to give me the wings I had hoped a career I would of had as a professional dancer.  Instead I fell deeper broke more.

Here I am calloused feet, injured knees, mind full of dances trying to find passion in art as a replacement for the love dance gave me
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© 2021 Namine0124
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