Arabesque, glissade changee, tour jete. The elegant steps blended together into the beautiful creation called ballet. This was the Mona Lisa, and I, for merely this moment, was da Vinci.
Step after step, my pointe shoes flew over the wooden floor, making music almost as beautiful as the soft tinkling of piano I could hear in my mind. As I glanced up to check my posture in the full length mirror in front of me, I saw a beautiful girl dancing, whirling, thrilled to be a part of the life that was dance.
And then she fell.
In one instant, I went from beautiful, elegant, graceful ballerina, to an awkward teenager dressed in a black leotard sprawled out on the ground. I looked at my reflection, and realized.
The world is full of deceptions, people and things pretending to be who they aren't. Some are lying for personal gain, but some are lying to protect someone they love from the world's evils.
Am I a ballerina pretending to be a regular person, or is it the other way around?
Am I real inside or outside of the studio?
Will I ever know?