I was a normal girl.
Or, I was supposed to be.
I was a normal girl with pretty blonde hair and blue eyes, with supportive parents and money. I was a normal girl with ballet shoes.
No. I was better than that. I was supposed to be better than that. I was better. Fuck normal. Fuck you and your normal fucking life.
That is the thing that they don’t tell you about life, though. That the good end up bad and the rich end up poor and the normal end up crazy.
There is a fine line between good and evil, that guy once said. And if you can walk, you can cross it. I danced my fucking way across that line and I want it back, I want it all back; I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss Julliard and I didn’t miss Angela and I didn’t miss the way the eyes of hundreds of people would light up the entire room with these golden sparkles that reminded me of fireflies caught in a jar just before they died.
I guess that was why I still carried around these stupid pink shoes with me. The one thing I couldn’t leave behind as I practically crawled my way across thousands and thousands of miles was a pair of pink shoes that are worn and dirty and old and broken.
Such a girl thing to do, in a place that girls are not allowed to be girls but have to be boys or else they really will be girls. There are no girls here. There are men and there are whores.
Except me. Because, you know: pink shoes.
Even if I didn’t still dance, I could still call myself a dancer. I mean, I have the shoes, right? Isn’t that what everyone does? As long as they think about the thing that they did that one time then they are the thing even if they haven’t done the thing in…how long has it been?
But, I do. I do still dance.
A Bestselling Author, NPO VP, and Psychology Today Blogger from Burbank, California, Allie Burke writes books she can’t find in the bookstore. Having been recognized as writing a “kickass book that defies the genre it’s in”, Allie writes with a prose that has been labeled poetic and ethereal.
Her life is a beautiful disaster, flowered with the harrowing existence of inherited eccentricity, a murderous family history, a faithful literature addiction, and the intricate darkness of true love. These are the enchanting experiences that inspire Allie’s fairytales.
From some coffee shop in Los Angeles, she is working on her next novel.
Visit Allie at http://wordsbyallieburke.com