I take form in the large room, floating from the strings and wood of the instruments.

I look down at myself. What am I today? I wonder. I take many forms, usually a different one every time I appear.

Today, I appear in a white dress with a strong bodice, and a tulle skirt that puffs out and reaches my knees. I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror. Bright red hair, pulled back in a bun, decorated with a simple white ribbon. My legs are covered by white tights, and small, light pink pointe shoes hug my feet. 

I smile. Classical, I suppose.

Before I know what's happening, I am dancing. Pirouettes, pique turns, arabesques. Twirling through the room en pointe, weaving through the crowds. White beams of light follow me, weaving around people, gripping them tight. Filling their heads with the notes, the beat, and the dance.

The song ends, and a cheer erupts through the room. I take a bow, though no one can see me.

The string quartet begins playing again, and I find myself rising up en pointe again, ready to dance once more.

Dance with me.

You are the one that

knows my swaying steps,

that some days my waltzing feet

drag themselves across the floor;

yet still you will be there

matching my pace,

sharing my pain.

The rhythm my heart beats to

is the one you taught me

for when I can't lift my toes

let alone the weight on my shoulders.

So take my hand

and dance with me

because your familiarity,

your unfailing friendship

is what I've always needed.