The shoes he couldn't wear !

They were not just shoes! They were him, his soul, and his life; something that could never be severed from him. There was no life without them. So when it all happened, he could not accept that he might not be able to put his feet inside those shoes, may be never again. He would never have envisaged this as his life had he not been in the condition that he got wound up in.

It was just like every other day. He had just come from work. Everyone waits for a new dawn, he was the only one who started his life around dusk; the time when he would put on his shoes and go on twirling on the toes of his right leg with the other leg just resting on it making a near spectacular 'four'. His arms first stretched outwards would lock to meet afterwards. None of the fingers would be straight or curled with the thumb pulled underneath the index finger but not touching. His limp hands would remain relaxed more like reflecting the way he would feel when he was on the floor pirouetting. But he was never tumescent; he knew he could never have enough of it. He would flit around, like some swan that had just gotten the strength to wallow off to a far, far place. A perfect match to her ballerina! He would jump, turn and lift the dancer. His arms had the strength for it. In a snap, he would again get on with his swirl. It was not until late that night when he was returning back to his home that he got in an accident, the accident which was going to capsize his life from then onward. The doctors diagnosed him with a life-long cripple with the minor-est of the possibilities of may be standing up, but may be a forever no to walking.

Even when his shoes were no use to him, he could not keep his eyes away from them. He would keep staring at them. Why wouldn't he? They reminded him of the best moments of his life when he was happy, and full of joy; when nothing around could put him down. He was sad but never disheartened. Inside his heart, he had always known, the smoldering embers of hope were enough to let him cling to the possibility of once again being able to put on those shoes and pirouette.  

Even when there was no more ballet, he could call on for some old videos with artistes performing ballet. He wouldn't even watch them. He would keep staring at those shoes imagining himself dancing with those on on the music from the video and it would bring out the same glow on his face.  He never chided his present; he just kept waiting for the future which would erase every memory of all that he was living. It had been so long that he might have forgotten how it felt to be on his feet, to walk, to move from one place to another but the feel of the ground under his toes when he used to hop with his shoes merely touching the ground was still afresh. It was in no way a far memory. He could still feel the air hitting his cheeks while he spinned. 

Dance had redefined his life. He had nothing more to ask for, no more demands. But now when there was no more dancing, reminiscing about it gave him the courage to transmogrify that string of hope into something to live for. But the irony was now he had a dream to fulfill - to be able to dance, to never stop again- something that he had achieved a long time back.