I once saw a girl.
She was dancing on a stage in front of a crowd.
She looked so strong. So beautiful. Perfect.
She twirled around, doing pirouette after pirouette.
She leaped like she wasn't afraid to fall. She leaped because she believed she could catch herself.
That day, I went home and tried to dance like her. Spinning in circles like nobody was watching.
Because no one was watching.
They never saw me fall to the ground. I never danced again.
I learned to move gracefully; walking, no, gliding, with perfect posture. That way, no one would ever know that I had fallen.
I once knew a girl. She was dancing alone in her room.
She looked shy. Uncomfortable. Imperfect.
She danced, or at least, tried to. She leaped, just a small jump, but fell.
Fell to the ground because she could never believe that she could catch herself.
She could never compare to the beautiful girl who had danced perfectly in front of a cheering audience.
But it was only because she had compared herself to the beautiful girl who had danced perfectly in front of a cheering audience.