Spaces.

When I dance, I reveal a story, something intimate and primal within that words can never conquer. It maybe about a fleeting emotion - despair, rage, hope, serenity - or a lifetime's worth of history. All in a span of seconds or minutes, if I am lucky.

But the world is my stage. There is enough room for a girl who wants to fly to do her dance.

And so, as soon as the music starts, I feel. I move. I push, pull, bend, stretch, spin, jump - I fill the empty corners with tales, secrets, lies, and truths. The thin line between fiction and reality blurs. I portray a character, but I still remain. I give parts of myself with every flick and step.

So watch me, carefully, with your sparkling eyes and understand the narratives I express. Decipher that I am weaving a tale right now: Hi, I am Chel and I am letting you in.

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Sometimes, words are enough. This is when time produces an ocean between two people- that no matter how near they are, they still need a giant ship to connect their shores.

And when my lighthouse flickers, I write letters.

I've never been good at farewells; I never handle them well. I write letters to express my regret of not being able to stay. I write to remember the memories and imagine the ones that I will miss out.

I write letters for closure.



But dearest, I will not exorcise you - your scent, your form, your touch- from me. I am showing you how I am - how I function, how I live.

I am letting you in. I am staying.