And the dance never arrived...

Dance until it hurts, as the song's letter sings. The music began to sound, and she kept static. Come on, dance as at last time!, but she stood still, without moving her feet. One step forward, one back, life was whispering inviting her to dance. Her face was a canvas on which a stormy sky was drawn that prevented the sun from seeing, but sometimes it appeared, shyly, although her shame hid it again. Dance so that the depression doesn't drown you!, life shouted, and grabbed her waist, hand on hand, and started to slide her... But was life that move her through the hope path, whereas she kept stagnant, without the will of deleting her face full of sadness, and if there isn't will, we can not do anything, if she doesn't want, there is no place for magic. "He didn't change myself,” she said to me. "You don't want to change anything," I answered. And the dance never arrived, only delusion, at least in this occasion...