She danced

She was graceful and delicate. Her feet were small and her arms were thin. Her hair was thin and wispy and light as the whispers we traded at night. Her skin was pale and clear with eyes like dandelions trying to poke out of her head but sinking in instead. She blew away in the fall breeze one October day, and her mind was caught by the clouds.

She danced in the day and she danced in the night. The wind held her up as gravity pulled her down.She loved to dance more than to eat and I watched her while I ate my afternoon snack. She said that air could be as sweet at sugar if you only knew how to taste it.
She danced to the song our mother used to sing, and it stuck in her head like the stickers on our bed. Her feet were small and they carried her across the stage morning and night and sometimes in her dreams.

She danced when Father said she was too thin, and cried because he didn't know what to do. She danced when when grandmother said she was sick. She danced until she was too delicate and not graceful. She danced until the costume no longer fit and her legs were not enough to stand.

And then, she danced in her head. She danced in her head and it filled her heart. She told me it filled her stomach too. She danced in her head and one day that danced away too.