How she came to her art felt like a dance, it was the same sensation. There was an awkward cadence to it, as if she was young and fresh and didn’t understand her own existence, let alone her partner’s. She felt nervous and new and she wasn’t sure of her actions. She held steadfast to the moment and followed the motions through her body begging to understand, to learn how to move. She wondered if on the other side the curiosity was mirrored?
From things unseen, there was a patient pause; a sense of grace about being recognized. There was no judgment or malice about how long it took. Time was uninformative. Rather there was a steady open listening, a gaze from across the room waiting to be returned. It was true and required nothing more than authentic recognition of what she wanted.
Passion is not a such a strange thing. It is in fact a flowering plant that craves to bloom. She did not understand how to cultivate it and she expected that it would sprout wildly in her and grow uncontrollably taking over her being, leaving her old self cracked open, a husk to feed what was new. But no this was part of her, one she had to welcome and coax; assuring it she too was ready and would not abandon it. In this way it started out as an affair of sorts: she stealing away in fits and fear for being discovered. All the while feeling more live and aligned with each rendezvous.
It is not hard to want, to crave something. It is much harder to be wanted, to be watched and release control of being carried away. It is never clear what story will wait on the other side. Truth be told, it is a web one gets entangled in long before they realize they are caught. There was not much else to do but throw fear aside, to relinquish it as a shield. She would stand naked across the room staring back into the eye of a being she did not yet fully comprehend. All the while knowing it was kin to her, all the while feeling magnetized to its presence.