Ah, the stories he told. The way his words would swirl around her, evoking a childlike wonder at her luck in stumbling upon this magical, secret place that he had created and chosen to invite her into. The delicious and sweet promises she bit into and delightfully swallowed, and the sound of his voice; music to ears that had listened to a cold silence too long.
His private desires were shielded by dark brown eyes that looked tenderly upon her, all the while deconstructing the soul she willingly bared. Dancing to her own beat, once a source of pride, became less enticing than following his able lead. Thus, a private synergistic dance began, first with him holding her close and gently twirling, then moving faster, aggressively out -of-tune, and finally angrily instructing her to keep up or get out.
Confused, she apologized. It must have been her. Certainly he couldn’t change his tune so drastically. That would mean this was all song and dance, a thought too terrifying to admit. And so she committed more. Studying harder, practicing longer, staying on her toes, carelessly stepping on the pieces of her shattering heart until the blood on her feet seeped from the shoes she bought in which to run to him. In the course of one song, her greatest pleasure had morphed into a heart-wrenching pain and she looked into the reflection of his projections and saw there was no way to please him. Alas, she would try, and try harder she did, frantically twirling and stepping until she fell to her knees, exhausted. With a hand reached out, she pleaded for him to help her get back onto her feet. There was no reply. His back was already to her. He looked back upon her, once more with disdain. He then grabbed his expectations, threw his misconceptions over his shoulder and walked out of the door, leaving only a great lesson behind.