On Endings

[CRNDLSM]

Having a hard time with this one, prolly cause it's not addressed to me

(Part III of a [currently 3-part] series addressed to a young student)

III. On Endings

Beloved, eventually you will find yourself My dearly beloved, don't like it
shedding aspects of yourself with each passing year.you find yourself shedding yourself, becoming yourself, into yourself! I'm losing my mind with the repetition already
Don’t worry: like Medea, you are becoming yourself,
growing into yourself. Discovering what you are capable of. Too lofty and all-knowing
For better and for worse, for each discovery is open doors and closed doors
a closing door. One night you will go out
and come home late and drunk and happy,
music still ringing in your ears, a stranger in your arms,
for the last time. One evening after the long tedious work day 
you will be done with disco naps, content to relax into quietude
or comfortable companionship. One day you will look out
over the fog rolling in and wish you had fewer friends.
Not even knowing that you want that yet, or that you have stoppedThis sounds like speaking from experience, and I disagree.
wanting that other thing, that you are done with that. That you are done with that, that you want that, that you have that other thing, I'm losing my mind!

One morning you will wake up, no longer young,
and discover that you must have your coffee in a particular mug,
that you have made a routine, that you are done with
a life in which your suitcase is always ready, and all that you own
fits within it easily. You will find that you want to stay rather than go,I don't see a point to all the enjambment except for looks
at last. Each time a last time, though you don’t know it at the time. 
Each time a casting off of aspects of yourself. Possibilities. This then growing into yourself, becoming yourself
is aging: becoming more purely yourself, letting fall
the faces you now are trying on until
one day in ballet class you will be so focused, so fully yourself,
that you don’t even notice the slight ache tasteful placement of focus and notice, rolls nicely
in your knees, the loud pops in your hips 
at the first grande plié, that you concentrate so hard on the frappés
that it is days before you notice the bruise at your ankle
from your foot swinging out and in, pushing off 
against the floor, and back in, 
devant, de côté, derriere, and out, and in.the words dance, you know what your talking about
So focused that you feel yourself merging into the 
centuries of history of people doing exactly this, 
exactly this way. Plié. Tendu. Dégagé. One day
there will even be a last ballet class, you will leave
the studio with the usual casual farewells, and
never return, never hold that barre again,
never correct your placement in that mirror
again, and you will be one of a thousand million dancers
who left the studio for the last time, all unaware of the ending,
all unaware that that pirouette was your last pirouette. When do they become aware of the ending, you seem aware

One evening, if you are lucky, you will leave a place
you have loved, where you have learned and loved, 
where you know even the angle of light of the sun as it sets
in every season, and where to find any day’s last sunbeam. Even for that place
there will be a last time you leave it, even though you won’t even notice I've read focus and notice too many times now
the door as it swings smoothly shut behind you,
and the voices of the crowds will blend into the noises of the street
like a photograph where you pushed the button just as someone jostled you, I can picture the photograph by your description, I'm a little jostled 
so that none of the boundaries are clear, but everything blends 
into everything else and nothing is clearly itself.
Even yourself, someday. Even that, remember. Even your self will be blurry, shedding aspects, 

This is all I want to tell you, beloved,
this is the secret to everything: and your ending here isn't convincing, however if this is all you want to tell your beloved young student, it might be best to stay in an anonymous book somewhere, because it's depressing to tell some leaving school they'll unknowingly wish they had no friends and never see their dancing poles again and it all gets blurry, and that's the secret, to everything.

Maybe I should have read parts 1 and 2