Running a path over and over can only last so long before it wears through.
She waits and waits for the next magic moment. That turning point when the world will turn to brilliant light and her feet will once again rise off the ground and hover there. She waits and waits without fail.
But it doesn't come.
And she realizes that stinging truth about magic moments. That they're not meant to come often. It makes the last one turn sour and the hope of ever finding one again grow dim and fade with the last remnants of leftover happiness. A couple times, she thinks she may have found it. The smile almost emerges. Her fingertips tingle with anticipation, but it's just her imagination.
In one small dusty corner of her mind, she desperately attempts to trap the very last pieces of light that haven't yet been taken out since the last time she needed that joy. She tucks them away, savoring them with a new sense of appreciation, because it's all she has left. The magic moment didn't come this time.
And she doesn't know if it ever will.
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