a whisper of words

it's a metaphor, you see.


35. elizabeth




elizabeth, she was dance. she was a beautiful art form where every single movement expressed something about who she was. her eyes spoke instead of her lips and told you that she lost herself through dancing. perhaps she was ballet and you loved watching her arabesque and pirouette in her own spotlight. it was difficult to keep up with her; she was either too fast or too slow. but you liked that. you loved watching her perform as her only audience. it was just you and her, and nothing else mattered. you lost herself in her, the way she lost herself in the music.

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