I had just turned fifteen, so it was late October, and we were on break from the legion or something. I was in a sparkly silver leotard with a diagonal, sequined black stripe. My tights were glittery and my hair was braided to look like a halo or something. It was the night we were supposed to look like angels. It was amazing and glorious.
I remember the wind whipping by my ears as I flipped and jumped and swang through the air is swang a word? If not it'll work for now. Anyways, back to the memory.
The scene passed all too quickly and afterwords I couldn't help but glow with happiness. Later that night a few of my friends and I slept on the floor of the Big Top and caused a lot of chaos, but good chaos. That was the night my funniest picture came from. I'm not even sure what we did to my hair, but it sure was entertaining.
That night was perfect. It was happy and complete and we were running on each others' energy and we never did crash, well they never did. I crashed, like I always do. I broke. I broke again. And now I'm just waiting to shatter.
That was one of those nights I forgot my affliction and was able to be myself.
Three years later I dearly paid for it.