Sometimes I look up at the twirling blades. The blades of the wind creator on the ceiling. I will turn it off and watch as the speed goes down to a slow dance. Moving in a perfect rhythm, like the melodic beat of a heart. I will be laying in the layers of blue in my sanctuary. Wondering about the world. What it is I will eventually find.

Then my thoughts will leave me, and it is like a daze. I cannot break out of it and I find myself falling into my own world. A world others cannot see. No more white ceiling, nor a fan, but blaring lights. I hear a crowd, screaming and shouting my name.

I reach up and the blades are no longer there. Instead, there is a loop and there is strings. My clothes gleam in the many lights and I somehow find myself being graceful. My hand wraps around the handle and I am being lifted. Lifted up and above. Lifted far above those with my name on their lips.

Strings like a puppet but only for protection. Once I am up the top, where I can hear the stars singing, I laugh out loud. I am only an outline right now. I am tricking their eyes, twisting my body in motions that are too quick for them to keep up with. I can see the invisible loops that I am meant to grab next and I close my eyes as I drop through the air.

I cannot hide my own smile as I twist, through the atmosphere, with freedom, grabbing hold of the next step. The crowd gasps in hushed tones as my hands slip and my body falls toward the ground again. Only, they do not see the other one in the air. His green eyes gleam and he twists through the air, flipping with grace.

He has a hold of my hand and up we go into the next loop. We are making them gasp. They are laughing. They are frozen in anticipation. Circus freaks, some call us, but what matters is that I feel free. Oh, so free. Up in the air like I can fly. Like I have no boundaries.

Nebula eyes have vanished. It is just me again. I have landed in the sand again and I bow. Their screams make my ears ring. They are more than impressed. They are hopelessly in love with the idea of flying. Only, they seem to forget how many risks come with the expression.

The music of the circus tent has faded from my ears and the blinding torches have left me blind. With faith, I can grab at the next handle. Ready for the next performance. Dancing through this world like a creature of hope. I am not afraid of what they might think of me.

I only look forward to that moment, when I am in the air, with nothing to grab just yet. That moment when I reach the top and I do not hear the crowds sing my name, but instead, I hear the stars sing for me. When the sound of freedom is silent, and I am suspended in it.

Then I fall and I twist with my eyes closed, my hands splayed out and ready. I am ready to give them another trick, to make them think I am dangerous. When only, I’ve practiced a million times. I love to dance like this, suspended in air and moving against gravity. Grace being my second ability after breathing.  

Dancing through the air like a creature of freedom.

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