I twirl around,
arms and legs moving in sync.
Breathing deeply, I repeat the motion,
and when I mess up,
I laugh at myself.

My head whips around and my eyes search
for the spot of which I focus.
Once more I spin,
and finally,
I come to a stop.

Reality washes over me,
I'm not in a dance studio,
rather, I'm in my room.
"That was then," I mutter,
"this is now. No more."

But I still reminisce,
recall those happy memories.
I continue to forget the steps,
and how to do them.

When I'm alone,
and my mind wanders,
I sometimes think about those days.
From the sound of the music,
and my aching muscles,,
to the jokes or complaints,
and the instructions from the teacher.

And sometimes I search.
I look through my mind for all that I learned,
and I look through the house for them,
My leotards, tights, ballet shoes.

When I can't find them,
it makes my heart ache.
I miss the days of dance,
Ballet, tap, and jazz classes.
I remember my friends,
those I haven't seen since.
I recall the rush of the stage,
and wondering if I'd change fast enough.

You know that saying?
The one about dancers?

Allow me to tell you,
its the truth.
Once a dancer,
ALWAYS a dancer...

At least until you forget...