On Emptiness and Writing.

"I wanted to touch him so bad it hurt. I didn't want feelings like that. I'd never wanted them, but I hadn't known - I hadn't known how they really felt. I'd never let myself know what it was to want someone and know they want you too. It's a terrible feeling, makes you open yourself up, expose all the soft places you wish you didn't have. It makes you hope."
           --Elizabeth Scott, "Love You, Hate You, Miss You"

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To be honest, I have been feeling somewhat empty lately, for various reasons, all of which are probably petty and inconsequential, but the feeling is there all the same. And when I feel too empty to talk and too physically broken to dance, like I do now, I fill the void with books.
So, today, I sat and read all day, and once I started Love You, Hate You, Miss You, I couldn't stop. I didn't expect it to be like that, didn't expect to feel a literal ache in my chest as I read. It was beautiful, it made me want to cry, but perhaps more importantly, it made me want to write. I miss the days where I filled the emptiness with words; words used to be a way of life for me, and now, I can rarely find them in conversation, let alone a piece of paper or a Word document.
Earlier today, before I even began reading Love You, Hate You, Miss You, I decided I was going to try writing something longer and more substantial than a blog post for once. And now, I know that I'll keep that promise to myself. A main character is beginning to take shape in my head; I'm just waiting for her to tell me her story. 

I am a dancer.

I am a dancer:
A woman to be proud of.
Worthy of all the love in the world.
Small, but mighty.
Stronger than you can even imagine.
Headstrong, independent, and sassy.
Young, but not a child.
Learning to open up and embrace the moment.
Moving forward from my past, but never forgetting where I come from.
Living my life on my terms.
Brave, passionate, and dedicated.
Letting go of old anger, slowly but surely.
Constantly growing, evolving, and learning.
Learning to love myself and my body.
Tenacious, joyful, and so very bad-ass.
Hurting, but not broken.
Inspired and inspirational.
Embodying the soul and spirit of an artist.
I am a dancer, a true dancer, and nothing can ever take that away.

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I know this is where I should write something about myself, but I felt that the above (from which my blog's title is derived) tells more about me than I could ever express. I wrote it in October 2010, while I was recovering from a broken hip, and wasn't sure when or if I would be able to dance again, and it's one of the rare pieces I've written that I can go back and read without cringing at my own inadequacy as a writer.