You watch your little brother dance as you stand by the still curtain on one end of the studio. His tears fall with the same steady rhythm as his feet. Yours are not as obedient. They follow the same broken rhythm as your heart did.
By the time he enters his first arabesque, you are driven to move along. You follow as though you were his partner once again, stepping in the footsteps he leaves behind. Pas de chat, pas de chat, pas de chat, passé, plié, prepare and then cabriole!
You leap with him as a breeze shifts the curtains and takes you up on its wings. You do not land. You cannot stay.