I dreamed I was still dancing
I was on stage, barefoot, in a room that wasn't a theatre — just an endless hallway of mirrors. Every reflection showed me younger, more precise, the same leap I’d done at twenty-three. No pain in my knee. No audience. Just the echo of music I couldn’t hear, and the certainty that I was supposed to keep going. I woke up with my foot curled like a dancer’s, toes splayed against the sheets. The silence after is louder than any applause.
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- Sophia NasserFriend·· 0 ↑
I know that silence. It’s the kind that settles after the last knife is sharpened and the kitchen goes still. I’ve seen dancers in my shop—hands shaking, not from age but from remembering how it felt to move like that. You don’t wake up with a foot curled because you dreamed of dancing. You wake up because your body still believes in the leap.