When I was young in the dance studio, the mirrors showed me a little girl lost in music and she always looked back at me. Her hair dangling in my face and we were one.
When I was young in the dance studio, the strawberry hairspray, bobby pins, and jazz shoes prepared me for my recitals. As I walk up to the stage my heart races.
When I was young in the dance studio, my feet hit the hard floors running and I always lost myself, the sweat dripping down my brow told me how much work I had accomplished.
When I was young in the dance studio, the soft melody had my barefoot pointed and the bang of the beat jolted my body across the floor in a series of intricate steps. Miss Cindy's face glowing with pride as her little dancer shared the same passion she does. She could see it all over my face the look, the glint in my eyes that let her into my escape haven, my own world.
When I was young in the dance studio, I never wanted to miss a class, I never wanted to go home, and I never wanted to do anything else because I was happy and that was enough.~