May 30, 2010
By Anonymous

I reached down, willing my fingers to reach the floor without bending my knees. In that moment, it was my deepest wish. I wanted to feel the carpet underneath my hands, to be at least a little flexible. I wanted it more than anything. My hands barely made it past my knees.

I breathed out, silently cursing myself for never stretching when I was in dance class. I just never thought about it that much. When I was younger, all I wanted to do was dance; what good would stretching do? I had no idea what effect it would have on me now. I hated the girls that could do the splits and not feel a thing, while I was in my room straining to touch my toes. It wasn’t fair.

I sat on my bed facing the wall. I didn’t notice the tear running down my face until it hit my leg. I couldn’t do anything right, not even the simplest thing. I felt like a failure.

It shouldn’t have been a big deal. Usually, I’m not that dramatic about everything. It just hurt. I couldn’t have the only thing I wanted right then, and it just hurt.

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