Said the Old Ballerina

They were all so much more enchanting. 

When they stood up there, giving away every single falsity made for washing, they really were something. 

It really was a magnificent show. 

...I whisper in the eerie, tingling, space and silence. 

An empty theatre devoid suddenly of its sparkling stars, still with all the red-cushioned chairs I adored a lifetime ago...

For a moment I sweep a perfectly broken-into-a-permanent arch foot+toes around in half-circle - then up on the ball, arms flow around and up and I.... dance again on the empty stage. 

Wonderfully trained, tortured beauty of movements. Years. 

The movements made, acclaimed, when I was captivating.

Ends with a smile and sigh. Feeble knees. Empty marquee.

Sometimes, you choose something else so many times. Too many times. 

And it's gone. 

Sometimes they borrow away all the things about yourself. The parts you loved. 

And it becomes a part of their newest character.

Unwriting the words you ached for first. 

So you fade-
at the ribbons,
at the fingertips, at the curly tendrils ends,
- even further from any recollection. 

And you're forgotten.