Song for Sienna
He watched her dancing to his song, her small, slender form no longer the graceful child-ballerina he had fallen in love with in their college years, when he aspired to philharmonic fame, and she to the world's brightest stages. It was this woman-child he had envisioned while writing the joyful piece, so many years ago, when the very air surrounding them had tasted of spring and innocence, when there had been no patches of needle-scars to mar her skin, no brokenness to halt her movements. When her lips had still held their secret kiss and her smile lacked the sad knowing that leaked from her eyes every now and again when he held her.
She danced slowly, but without the now-familiar hesitation and fear in her movements, and he knew that this was as much for her as it was for him, one last final ballet in memory of what she had had, and what they had had together. It broke his heart to acknowledge it, but he had to give her that understanding. He supposed he was lucky that their love had