Standing in the Stillness

I sit here in this old dusty corner watching her dance in the twilight
her feet gently pound the century old oak flooring in a rhythmic heartbeat
I watch her hair flutter ever so gently as she twists and turns in the darkness of this place
the slight perspiration breaking her brow is the only testimony of the labor in her movements
I am amazed by the depth of emotion in each stroke of her hand
silence lies stagnant in the air, yet I can hear the music that only she focuses on
I wonder if she knows the beauty she beholds as she caresses the night with her soft expression
I am fastened to her every movement, her every breath and detail
in an instant, she buckles and loses her balance
I wait to see her next move as she lies motionless on the ground
I am embarrassed for her as she has obviously ruined the perfect symmetry of her art
I am drawn to help pull her up…to help her dust off her failure and progress on
I feel guilty for the unintentional pressure that I have placed on her
my  expectation that she be perfect here in this place

                                                                I wait.  I hold my breath.

Slowly, I observe her lifting her head.
I pause.  My eyes are fixed on her alone.
She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes.
Ever so gently she tilts her head back and exhales
a light steam rises from her mouth as her breath hits the cool night air
She smiles.
I feel sad as she continues to sit motionless on the floor. 
Anger swells up within me as she robs me of the intimacy of her movement
I feel deprived and cheated out of something that I discovered.
Yet, I sit here still in the night hoping that she will continue her sweet soliloquy of emotion
The wind blows into the room through the open window
leaves scatter across the hard wood as loudly as boulders falling from a summit
I watch as she lifts her hand tenderly into the air as if conducting a silent symphony
the leaves dance around her as if following the direction of her finger tips
I am mesmerized as she swiftly stands and stretches each muscle
I begin to realize that her moment of serenity has passed and she has quickly dismissed her somber moments of beauty and art
as she walks towards the door, I am drawn to her, wishing I could hold out my hand and stop her from leaving
As she crosses the doorway, she runs her hands along the molding peering into the room once last time
I stand abruptly…ready to bring her back to this place
I run, panicked that she will leave
I inch closer and closer until finally she closes the door and leaves me standing in the stillness
I feel out of breath…torn by what was and what could have been
If only she knew that I silently admired her from this dusty corner
another 50 years I shall wait until another soul is trapped in this place beside me
another time  until I admire another standing in the stillness