the remnants of a beautiful dance

I am drained of everything I was. Pulled out, forced out, drawn to the surface, beaten and dissected. I did it to myself. I tore out what was not ripe and ready. I have nearly nothing left. I am raw and open and so so susceptible to every emotion, feeling, and touch that I might die in the overwhelming flow of it all. I think I love everyone to the same depth that I love my girl. I think I can’t eat or breathe for the feeling of my organs moving inside of me. I hate so deeply and so entirely that it will surely hurt me soon. I cry for love, I cry for loss, I cry for art, and emotion, and loneliness, and the cotton candy I’m eating which is turning my mouth blue. I might strip my bedroom walls of everything because the memories are too intense. I am a mess.

I love my dancers, and every ounce of effort and care they’ve put into my dance. I’m in love with the story they tell, and the way they tell it. That story has a life, has a meaning, and has a death lock on me. It won’t let go. It hangs from my heart, heavy and used. I want the dance back. I want it to live again. But so many little parts of the story have gotten lost in the dance anyhow. No audience could possibly know the gravity of it all. No dancer could know the gravity of it all when I am only experiencing it now.

Videotaped, I can watch it now, and a million times over. I can experience the exact movements, facial expressions, brilliant moments and adrenalin etched along the recording. I can move with the images, remember through the images, but the images are a sad imitation of the thing that was.

I wasn’t ready to create that piece. I was in a dark and uncreative place in my life, but I forced myself to feel and to move when my soul was not ready. It has never been so difficult to create dance, but I pulled my soul along by a string, like a rag doll, and I made it stand, and I made it talk, and I demanded strength from it, and I think that tore it apart. My soul hangs from my heart. Utterly it is so, torn apart.

 Lol now that I got all that out, I feel silly. I guess I’m just thinking of what people will think when they go to read it, and maybe I shouldn’t think about that. Maybe you won’t think I’m silly and a dramatic. I hope you don’t, because creating is a powerful thing... I don’t know if I’m alone in feeling this way, hopefully I’m not. I’m just a human. Just a human, looking to make pretty and romantic things. I’m empty now, lol and utterly so. :P