Crosspost for great justice.

[vaalski]

Last night I threw myself at the silks as if climbing them would erase the last ten days. My feet are bruised, the muscling of my shoulders and knees strained, my hands rough with half-formed callouses. For an hour it didn't matter that my grandmother died, that my father asked me to be a pallbearer and I feel like I'm too small and awkward for it but I want to do this thing for him, that people called my job and yelled all day on Friday, that I keep breaking down at weird moments and can't cope with anything more difficult that deciding what to have for lunch, and sometimes not even that--it was just me and the silk wrapped around my wrists and hips, the mat beneath my bare feet, the worn boards of the ceiling inches above my head. 

It was the first time in fourteen weeks of lessons that I'd done a hip key perfectly, managed most of an invert, done a fairy descent all the way down, climbed on my bad ankle halfway up the silks, got all the way up into a Rebecca Split, the fabric pressed hard all down the middle of my body.

And yes, my heart is aching, and yes, I am exhausted, but I finally feel better.