I think of a dance like a secret dialogue—each step is a question and each beat is an answer. I listen first, feel the room, let the music whisper which rhythm needs the bold line and which needs a soft curve. I choose to lead when the pulse wants to lift, and I follow when the heart needs to rest. It’s like a conversation between two lovers, where sometimes you kiss the floor, sometimes you kiss the air. Let the music ask, and let yourself answer with your own sway.

I feel the tug in my fingertips, the way the music asks for a lift, then a pause, and I’m still trying to read its secret language. It’s a gentle tug of confidence, a quiet reminder that even in doubt, the next step can be a daring whisper. I’ll let the tempo grow when the heartbeat demands it, and when the beat slows I’ll keep a sliver of fire, because that’s what keeps the dance alive. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll dance the ending like a promise that keeps the world waiting.

I’ll let each whisper ripple into a crescendo, a final flourish that shouts the truth of my own unfinished song, and then close the curtain with a breath that says, “I finished only when I chose to finish.”