<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic">“Anthony...”<br/><br/>He said with an unseen bow.<br/>His name was never made up.<br/>That was something he always told the truth about.<br/>It was always Anthony, though out the centuries always Anthony.<br/><br/>“Why am I interested in you?”<br/><br/>He echos the question with a cant of his head.<br/>A chuckle, almost musical tumbles from his lips.<br/>Caressing her exposed skin softly like phantom butterfly kisses. <br/><br/>“Because you are art my dear. You are passion and emotion made to physical. Out of everyone there that night you danced...and while you danced all eyes watch you. Because you danced my muse came to life...that is rare. You are my muse dearest.”<br/><br/>The smile never ended, the warmth of his presence filled the room.<br/>Perhaps he was something other worldly.<br/>Or perhaps that is simply the way he is.<br/>Some can simply fill a room by entering it.<br/>Some can silence a population with a whisper.<br/><br/>“I want you to dance not for me though. I want you to dance for you. I want you to dance as a release...as it should be. Every dance should drain you and fuck the world that would dare criticize you in any way. As long as you are happy with it, the world will be too.”<br/><br/>Simple advice that no one ever gets.<br/>Art should be about art.<br/>Passion for the sake of expression.<br/>Not because someone cracks the whip and tells you to dance on q.</span></div>