VIII

VIII

My shoes are too tight. My shoes are too tight, but it no longer matters, for my feet have forgotten how to dance.

My feet, which once knew how to charm with their nimble motions, no longer know how to step in time to the barest tune. My feet do not know how to dance any more but it no longer matters, for my hands have forgotten how to hold another human being close to my breast.

My arms, which once gave much comfort to those who found themselves in need, in need of human touch; my arms have forgotten how to wrap around another human and how to clasp another’s hand in mine. My tools, my hands, have forgotten what it means to touch but not harm; one too many times these tools on the ends of my arms have been used to hate. But it no longer matters, because my voice no longer entices those who hear to draw closer.

My voice, my mouth, knows no longer how to whisper soft praise or how to shout bold encouragement from the rooftops of the world. My words which once held myriad traces of my soul in every fleeting breath now only hold the vestiges of my remembered life. With each word and each breath my human soul was drained away. My mouth now only knows how to remember and how to lie. And each lie and memory--each memory and lie, for where is the distance betwixt the two?--stabs into my heart, for they seek to take my soul away still, to fill my speech with life. But it doesn’t matter any more, because my heart has forgotten how to love.

My heart, which held my being, my passions and desires, no longer knows how to love. But it no longer matters, because my shoes are too tight and my feet have forgotten how to dance.