The Feeling of Dance

A Little Spiel About Dance. AKA The Feeling of Dance

(I actually used some of this for a college essay. *insert mirthless laugh here*)

Nothing makes me feel like I do when I dance. I like to equate the feeling of dancing with a supernova. It starts out small. A simple idea, a good dance move, or a music track that makes my body want to shed its skin and expand infinitely. I close my eyes and listen. My blood absorbs the notes and beats and my body begins to glow. I start to move. Motion fills my muscles and my body is swallowed by the area around me. I breathe in and out; the air cools my lungs. I open my eyes but all I can see is the inside of my body. The joints that bend, the muscles that propel, the heart that provides, and the music and dance both blindingly bright within me.

Then the dance is created. The moves fit together, and my mind begins to burn and the fire spreads down my nerves to all the parts of my body until I’m all aflame with motion and music. I sweat droplets of light. My body's glowing gets more and more intense as the dance flows on. Now, the end of the dance coming, there’s a point where my mind liquefies and is absorbed by the rest of my body. I no longer think, I just move and experience the space around me. This is where the star has burst. My brain releases so many endorphins I almost black out with pleasure.

The music dissipates with the final traces of stardust, and the dance is over. I stand, breathing heavily, blood rushing at 80 miles per hour through my veins. Reality comes rushing back to me, and I devour it all because I'm no longer a star, after the supernova of dance, I am a black hole. I walk off, my body spent and sad that it's all over.