dancing shoes

I slip off my shoes,tired and worn, but still grinning brightly. The songs still playing in my head and my feet trying to move through their tiredness to the beat. I put my shoes in my closet, where they will sit till next week. I check the bottems, making sure they'll still slide then flop down on my bed. If only every day there was dance class. But alas, i would have to wait till monday evening to move across the middle school cafiteria like a swan. My friends at school dont understand. They ask me time again why i love to go to the middle school to dance for two hours with people who are as old as my grandfather. I can never explain why i love to glide about the floor, ignoring the pain in my stepped on feet. But ballroom dancing had opened up a new world. One where age or gender didnt mean a thing, and anyone can feel the glow of gliding on the dance floor.





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