I used to feel like a little girl, looking in hopefully on my life as if it were a movie. I was not the star, but a weary audience member living vicariously through the actions of the main character. I hoped, I wished, and I prayed for a the skies to be clear from the agony I felt... the agony she felt. But the agony never went away, and the claws were growing in tighter on my chest until a scream turned into a whimper. I hoped the movie would get better, and I wished so desperately that I didn’t identify so fervently with her... me.
With me.
And now,
I threw myself, face first, into the screen. My body intertwined with hers so effortlessly. So effortlessly that the creation of what was made is beautiful, kind, and strong. I understood her, and she me. And we...
And we,
And I...
The dance replays fresh in my mind, each time with an unknown nuance coming into the light. The screams, laughs, the joy and fear of it all reverberating in the space between my temples so violently... or vibrantly. The little girl who stared defeated into the screen now lives in that space between my temples. She keeps me honest. She keeps me...
Me.
