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***This excerpt comes from a short story I was writing for submission to a  documentary entitled, “Why Are Black Women Single”***

I studied hard and played like the world had my record on a continuous spin. I danced in college. I danced like although I knew someone was watching they couldn’t fully appreciate who I was until the dance was done, but the dance was never done, and I was fine with being slightly misunderstood. So I danced. I danced like tomorrow was going to come too soon and the thought of me dancing would not be received well by those who were placed in my path to shape my future.  So I danced until my legs went numb, and my face went pale, and the hair around my temple curled loosely from beads of perspiration. I danced until Friday became Sunday which blurred slightly into Monday like perfectly blended eye-shadow that only showed its true color the higher the hues went and the more the other colors were worked out. I was a great student because I knew how to have fun-how to let the world come to me and me not sweat anything but the dance. I burned both ends of a rapidly burning candle and these were the best years of my life.