On Pointe

A very short - very true - story...

When I hear music, any music, I am dancing. Behind my eyes, where no one can see, I am dancing - on pointe.

         In reality, I am one-hundred and eighty pounds of voluptuous curves and folds of warm, lovely fat that my metatarsal heads would crack under the pressure of…

         In my dreams, I am dancing. Every time I close my eyes, I am dancing. I am always on my toes, on pointe.

         Is it a previous life?

  I feel it.

  It had to be.

         The idea of doing it, in reality - dancing, much less going up on my toes, is absurd.

         That’s when I met Harry.

         The b*****d.