Before the Music Starts

She was already dancing before the music began.

I remember the way she couldn’t stand still, how her shoulders carried rhythm even in silence, how the braids were pulled tight but her spirit wasn’t. The rhinestones on her forehead caught the light like tiny constellations, and I thought — this is what courage looks like at this age. Not fearless. Just willing.

Backstage she was half child, half storm. Laughing one second, serious the next. Watching the older girls. Watching herself in the mirror like she was trying on the future.

When the beat finally dropped, something changed. She didn’t belong to us anymore in that moment. She belonged to movement, to muscle memory, to the tribe beside her. I stood in the crowd pretending not to cry, pretending this was just another performance and not a glimpse of who she was becoming.

Dance is strange like that. It shows you your child stepping into themselves before you’re ready to let go.

She finished flushed and glowing, breathless and proud. And I remember thinking — whatever she chooses in life, I hope she keeps this. This fire. This rhythm. This way of taking up space without apology.

Some days we teach our children.

Some days they show us how to move.

Word count: 253

— Maggie
The Afterlove Voice 💫