I keep telling my body, skin and bones, heart and lungs, that this type of sound is not conducive to the dance I know, the precision and power hammered into an unrecognizable grace of form. I keep telling my body that there isn’t even any of that left in us, that it was slowly and methodically crushed out of our sinews by time and grief. Maybe I should still my mind. Maybe I should shut up and listen to my body. Maybe I should remember what it is to bend and stretch and breathe and soar.
As if you were on fire from within.
The moon lives in the lining of your skin."
— Pablo Neruda (via thatkindofwoman)