like a door in a house

the air of a disgusting day overwhelms me. but as i place the pads of my feet on the floor i know i must get up. this wretched day cannot win.

the looming gray is just a phase, i know this. but my ankles, hips, and abdomen do not. they are sore from the hour and a half of ballet that i took last night. my friend here, the dancer, has been teaching us. well, almost re-teaching me. i danced for about 13-years before quitting, and i miss it terribly.

yesterday was my first class. i felt out of shape if anything. my leotard was unforgiving from the side, and my old ballet slippers are losing their inner lining. but my posture was good, my arms and even my thighs remember what to do. it was very basic, though some of the more dreaded moves caught me up in a sweat.

but the barre is my old friend, someone that has no idea why i left dance 5 years ago, and misses me. i feel like i have kicked a puppy, and as punishment my body screams in protest as i find my socks and move slowly from my bed to my desk. it’s a good kind of groan, like a door in a house, that is loved.

it’s still cold and gray outside, i did not make that up. and i am still getting over not being in the city. my dancer friend reminds me that the first few days are the toughest, and it gets easier after this. i am not sure if she’s talking about ballet or school or long distance relationships, but i apply her advice where i see fit.

tomorrow i dance again. but today, i am dragging my feet through soggy leaves, and whispering when i talk. i am cold, but i will win this day.

-katche