I pulled the porcelain coffee cup to my lips, as I sat on the wooden stool in my underwear. The sound of a Jimi Hendrix song drifted slowly from my fathers beaten old record player, the rain creating a pitter patter backdrop to Jimi’s voice.
I closed my eyes, a swirl of colors dancing across my eyelids.
It was like a dream, the sound of the rain, the soft hum of a voice I knew so well and of course the sheer bliss of sudden peace.
When everything was broken into pieces, smashed to ashes like that of a smoldering cigarette, it was dance that suddenly healed everything, even if only for a moment.
It seemed to make me human again, before returning me to my lost self.

I looked down at my pointe shoes, the strings loose around my thin ankles. They were pretty shoes, a prized possession at the least. Soft as satin, papery thin, and coated in a dusty pink color, with smudge marks here and there.
They were like a key to a new world. A passage way of sorts created to fit me.
And all I had to do was slip them on.