Yes he was beautiful, untouchably smooth. He was the epitome of quick, lush, and perfect to view. But he was a poor dancer, and he should have been wary, for to be in his shoes, so many would see him. He pranced about, oblivious to eternity's glare, and gazed off into the hills, with a smirk, and gleam in his eye.
The storm clouds could darken all they liked, he was going to celebrate, as he saw fit.
And the events of the last three days had made him feel good, justified, accomplished, his will had been acquitted.
He danced for three days. He danced.
But upon the third day, he found out that he was wrong.
His dance ended. It was over.
And his dance was never good.
No matter the time, effort or practice.
It was never good.
