A/N: Only one review? Come on guys! I know I'm not that good of a writer but please review! Thanks you Sad Little Smile for reviewing, it meant a lot. :) This is a very vauge drabble which I originally didn't write for Sparks of Drabble, this truthfully could be for any female character in Artemis Fowl, but for some reason I'm leaning toward Angeline Fowl for this. Odd, I know.
Dance. Dance like no one is there. Though the steps may be choppy, ungraceful, still dance. It's the passion that makes it real, not how many steps you memorized, not the complexity of the moves, true dancing stems from the reason you dance, for what or whom you dance.
When I was younger I saw a dancer, but I saw the silhouette better. So beautiful, so under appreciated. I wanted to be the sillohuette. No one watched the silhouette but I did, the dancer, shadow or not, had no passion, these were steps to be memorized, these were people to impress. The silhouette was empty, yet still so achingly beautiful. I pitied the perfect. I encouraged the the flawed passion. Yet to myself I was an exception.
When I was little I didn't want to be a dancer I wanted to be a dancer's silhouette, so graceful, no flaws in the expanse. A silhouette could be beautiful. When you are a silhouette everything is so simple, you are there to haunt, no one pays any attention to you but they realize if you were gone the dance would be lacking. But a silhouette has its drawbacks. So two dimensional, shadows do not have passion, they only give off a faint shimmer of the real emotion. But... To be a silhouette empty without soul, but so beautiful. If I was a shadow I could be beautiful. With edges so blurred, I would have no flaws. And sadly I turned beautiful, beautiful but a shell. Oh I danced through, flitting, barely touching the ground, sanity was the ground. I turned into a silhouette. I danced but I did so for the sense of normality and not for I.
But to dance... There are no more inhibitions, you are passion you are true unadulterated emotion. So dangerous any man could be blinded by your dance. Blinded yet still seeing, seeing through eyes of changing light, but you cannot dance forever, songs end in time and therefore so do you. True, no music is needed to dance but music is passion, passion is needed to dance.
Oh to dance through life, twirling through troubles all worries bouncing off a perfect spotting. But when you dance through life you miss moments. When you dance the gist is there but so focused on dancing, you miss the smiles of the watchers, the applause. A silhouette can see this. A silhouette can live but so empty is their life they do not recognize the preciousness of these memories. To be a dancer is tragic, to be so perfect, but perfection is a human impossibility. But dancers are not completely human are they? They are the connection among the beauty of the spirits and the amazement of the human race.
But human kind is cruel, they laugh if you are not a silhouette, you are not allowed to be anything less than what they expect, but they always forget, so ignorant, that you are yourself. So dance like no one watches, dance like the world consists of only you and your silhouette. Dance for the passion in you, dance for the reasons only you know. Dance to regain the life you missed while they booed, while you flitted amongst the clouds. Dance and the silhouette accompanies you.