The Ballerina ~ Ede.N
Death is like the perfect pirouette.
In my head, I am the perfect ballerina.
I stand tall in the middle of a stage, hands in a graceful arch above my head, legs straight and firm.
The pink of my tutu glowing against my dark skin, my hair up with no strand out of place.
The music plays and I start to twirl.
And in that moment, I feel nothing, no pain, no sadness or happiness, no depression or anxiety, no poverty or wealth, no joy or suffering, no voices, no aches, no knowledge or ignorance.
In that pirouette, I am free.
Death is like a perfect pirouette and i am the perfect ballerina.