The camera clicked and I studied the pose he made. Fluent. Graceful. Poised. A generalization of all ballet dancers, admittedly, but the words were more so pertinent to him than anyone else I knew. Lines were blurred, focus was on one thing and one thing only. His movement was akin to a dance, even though it was a mere walk. His body was curved in a beautiful arc; his head and fingertips pointed upwards; to the one thing that was always in the distance, just waiting. Waiting for someone to believe it, to notice it, perhaps. To, I suppose, Heaven.
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