Found

How sad the first tries. 

And the rejections. 

The rejection becomes the reason for dancing. 

The same kind of dance. 

A different love jumps from the stage. 

Your life, your work, your hopes and thoughts and songs and breath. 

Nothing would be better, sweeter than that moment. 

I would tell you, to make the hair go up on the back of your neck. 

Dancing is... everything... to me. 

Spent most of it starving. 

And if somebody had told me back then that I would come to love it. 

Love the whole dance of it. 

The way the stories dance. 

The thing that pushes me to dance;

I dance from my life. 

A feeling of wonderful newness and expectations. 

So much of dancing is so tenuous, 

so fragile, 

that in my own work I try not to pick at it

for fear of damaging it. 

The unending thrill of being a part of this dance.