Thursday, 10 March 2016

Classe | A Valentino Love Story

Paris, France.

How easy it must seem from the outside looking in
Delicate ballet tulles and silk made flats
wounds carefully hidden beneath 
and within
Unseen teardrops that fall from Swarovski chandeliers 

Hair slicked back in the tightest chignon. Face defined to perfection with powder and a strong nude lip. Hands clasped loosely, heart softly paced.  A powerful surge of energy hits as the lights go on. The thud of the music begins, matching the pace of a pulse - soft and empowering. Ready to spring into grace, ready to exploit the fuel we crave. This is the dance of our lives beginning in

5, 4, 3 , 2

5.30A.M and nobody else is awake to feel the aches and pains of working late into the night. When all motivation is lost, in routine we must trust. One last time because practice will make perfect. One more try and it'll be worth it. Hearts heavy, we drag ourselves out of bed swallowing the gaping hole that threatens to engulf us. Like war veterans we are broken into a thousand and one pieces. Like ballerinas we face the world eyes shining, hoping that soon the rain will end and the sun, emerge. The cold shower washes the self pity away. Dressing in uniform to prepare the mind for what is to come - hard gruelling work. 

Wondering when our time will come, 
for beautiful ballet tulle dresses and silk made flats.


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