I leave with same passion I arrive with, but just a little more sore and bruised. Late nights and weekends; this is where my time is consumed. I take in music as if it is my accustomed language. Stretching becomes necessary like breathing. I turn like the tea cup ride at the fair. My feet spring off the floor like a child bouncing a beach ball. I soar like a plane across the room, but if I hit the floor it seems much harder. I get yelled at, bruised, and sometimes I bleed. Nights can become long which makes time for sleep decrease. Some days I feel beaten down and no good, but this only makes me stronger and work harder. This may seem harsh but...I live for it. Everyday I find myself not at this place my heart seems to grow sad. It is my home and where my family is, and I am cared for and loved.