I see you, the way you curl your knees toward your chest and clench your elbows to your sides. I wonder, as I watch from under my eyelashes, if you were just told too many times when you were little to keep your hands to yourself, or if you spent too much time in middle school tripping and crashing into things with your new height, or if you are so unconsciously conscious of some flaw that you spend your physical energy trying to hide everything about yourself.
You aren't always like this. What is it that makes you try to fold all your limbs into your body, drop your eyes, bow your head?
I wish I knew.
I feel something stir in my heart, and I want, more than anything, to rise from my seat and raise my arms and twirl and spin and take your hand. I wish I could pull you to your feet and help you spread your limbs as wide as mine, and let the rhythm of the music pull us away from this place where we're afraid. I ache to let my spirit unfold in the center of my chest, to let it breathe and expand to touch your spirit, to let them soar and weave together.
What are we so afraid of? Is it the dance, the arms-wide vulnerability, the possibility of being seen?
I think so.
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