All my life, I’ve searched for an angel.
My very own angel.
A girl who sets me on fire. I searched for her in high school. In the dancing halls. In huge competitions I was made to attend.
In the goddamn streets.
Everywhere.
But here.
I’ve found an angel in this class.
My angel.
Her soft hair glints golden in the sunshine spilling through the windows; her rosebud lips part on a sigh as she dances the arabesque, her movements like the slow spread of honey. I frown at her, transfixed, as the students progress through their exercises, trying and failing to pinpoint why she captivates me so.
She’s not the most technically perfect.
She does not have the highest extension or the most arched feet.
She does not even have the best focus, her attention slipping regularly from the dance and
