And then tonight, as I was having dinner all by myself for once, I started thinking about my daughter's ballet shoes and memories came back to me.
I was about her age.
I wanted to be a ballerina.
At that time, we had a summer house in the southwest of France and there, my sister E. and I had ballet pointe shoes. I don't know where we got them, maybe my mother had bought them for us at a brocante (a village flea market). I used to wear them and dance around, pretending I was a famous dancer. After a while, they hurt my feet, but I didn't care. I could see myself dancing Swan Lake, with a beautiful ballet tutu and my hair carefuly tied in a bun, and I kept spinning around with my shoes.
|photo found here|
And as I am writing this, I can feel that the little girl in me is still dancing.
I named my son Swann (not even thinking of the ballet).
I tie my hair in a bun every other day.
I am not a dancer but I am graceful.
I fall in love with ballet shoes.
I am still a dreamer.