Dancing

For most of the time she wouldn't call dancing something beautiful. It didn't feel like something beautiful. It felt like pain and hard work and more pain and disappointment. It felt like she wasn't beautiful, there were so many tears, so many faults. And pain. It was always the pain, which seemed to dominate every lesson, every second she wore those shoes.
But then again there were those tiny perfect moments, the moments she kept fighting for.
There were those moments when she felt beautiful, when she felt like dancing was something beautiful.
In those moments everything was perfect.
The shoes were perfectly made for her feet and her feet were perfectly made for her body and her body was perfectly made for the music.
It stopped feeling like dancing and started feeling like being the music.
She wasn't a human anymore, wasn't a body struggeling to be in the right rhythm, struggling to do the right moves.
She didn't need to think about moves or music or her feet or her fingers. She was music, she was perfection.
This was the reason why she wore these shoes so many hours.
Perfection.