BALANCE

It was the way he looked at me. As if every one of my actions held him in an orbital spin and one quick movement could swiftly bring his world to collapse.

GAZE

Her actions alight to the tune of others gazes. If they are hateful or judging, she dances, with the clumsy desperation of a child reaching out for a better reflection in their parents eyes. All the time, she spins, tirelessly reaching out and letting time act as a metronome for her production. How she longs to collect instead, her favorite gazes. There is the gaze of the innocent, which quickly enables her to become the mother, the womb, the fixer of all things wrong with the world. The gaze of the open soul, which allows her to swim through sentences at leisure, ugly and imperfectly real. And, of course, the gaze of the lover, the one that allows her to set everything aflame. It is here that life becomes a place of unending beauty and exploration. The world loses its sepia colored hue and in it's place, everything takes on an entirely new spectrum of colors and characteristics. In this gaze, everything has a story and it is full-on movement and wonder. Her senses heighten; the tips of her fingers graze against surfaces as if reading Braille. She uses touch to read her world, cocooning herself into each new habitat, fingers lovingly intertwined with that of her lover. She longs for a ballad to compliment the quiet, and frequently jumps from one song to the next as her spirit sails along with every note and undulation. Instead of dancing her clumsy dance, she paints, she sings, she writes, she digs her soles into the dirt and greets the sun. Sometimes she wonders~ for which dance will I be remembered?