Perfect Love.

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The studio had a blue tint to it. Maybe it was the curtains, maybe it was the tranquility that accompanied it. The floors were wood; nice, shock-absorbent wood that would prevent dancers from possibly breaking their bones or their necks.I left my slippers at the door, and my bags at the chair. I pulled my impossibly long hair into a bun and slipped on the wooden shoes that kept me on my toes. Literally.

The studio wasn't that big, but it seemed just enough. The mirrors weren't smooth and perfect, but they reflected just enough. I touched the table lovingly, before pulling the coral blue curtains open.

A shaft of light shone through, blinding me momentarily. I squinted, and I could see the people outside walking; doing their normal activities. They were cut off from me though; a different world. I was here with the music and the wooden shoes, and they were there with the plastic bags and flip flops.They didn't belong in my world, and I didn't intrude into theirs. I closed the curtains and switched on the dim lights.

It seemed like a dream to me. This studio, this lighting; they seemed to belong only in the storybooks that I read at home. This scene was too perfect. I hesitated a little. Was it too perfect for me? Could I, a imperfect dancer, be good enough to utilize this perfect studio? I shook my head. It doesn't matter. My love was perfect.

I plugged my phone into the sound system, choosing my favourite song: the one with piano keys. I could barely hear it at first, until it grew louder and louder, resonating through the smooth wooden panels on the floor. It seemed to come through me, moving up my shoes into my bones. I took a deep breath.

And then, I danced.

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