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  • Writer's pictureSophie

Day 542

Watching my sister dance reminds me of my childhood days in the studio, in a fog of hairspray, in a huddle with my team mates. I'd lace my ballet flats and stand in my tallest releve. My tall body towered over the other little girls, I could see their buns on the top of their heads. On special days I'd wear my costume and scatter sequins wherever I went. The tutu could be blue or pink or red, but I never minded either way. I miss when the most important thing in my day was which dance move came after the next.

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