<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic">“I see...”<br/><br/>Such a simply statement made.<br/>That smile still lingers on his lips.<br/>It danced on his words<br/>Her hand in his they walked.<br/>He only needed to listen to the whispers.<br/>He knew where the studio was now.<br/><br/>“Why do you dance?”<br/><br/>That was an important question.<br/>Well to him at least.<br/>Art is never art without passion.<br/>Why was there passion?<br/>Why does she put silent poetry to movement?<br/>He was curious to know.<br/>Every single story was different.<br/>It was important<br/>...a piece of the puzzle of life.<br/>She was his poison.<br/>She was his muse for the moment.<br/>Did she know who she had snagged?<br/>More than likely not.<br/>But he didn't care, he was but a myth.<br/>A whisper, of a shadow of a bit of a shattered dream.<br/>Nothing more and nothing less. <br/>He existed to play and to watch. <br/><br/>He would listen to her talk.<br/>Savoring the story she would tell.<br/>Remembering it in his core. <br/>Sooner rather than later though...<br/>they arrived at the dance studio.<br/>Couldn't be though..right?<br/>It wasn't enough steps, not enough turns.<br/>But none the less they were there.</span></div>