Ballet Ballet
I am tall, and agile, with curled, dark brown hair that sways to the nip of my back; I am a dancer. I always have a smile on my face, twirling, dipping, and leaping through the air. My partner is very professional, agile, and beautiful as well. We dance for ages it seems, just performing for an empty auditorium. The velvet, burgundy red, curtain behind us, sleepily slumping on the stage ground. Stretching far above our heads, thirty maybe forty feet above us it clung to the wires, chains, loops, and pulleys. Against the curtain, my dress is illuminated. A pale buttermilk, floor length, sleeveless, gown with lily petal patterns intricately embroidered almost invisibly around the skirt hem. Accompanied by my gentleman’s classic tuxedo, we silence all fashion magazines in awe and zealousness. The stage is lit by only the main spotlight, glaring at center stage, heating the floorboards beneath my slippers and evaporating the sweat beads accumulating around my temples, then breaking free to