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Lace wings spread behind you. It's a dance. A come and get me . That's why you move so face, roaring past the other skaters during practice. 

A furious circle, like the jagged center of a sunflower. A sinuous line bending, curving. Blades gouging on the spins, whispering through the twizzles. But most of all neat, crisp footwork weaving deep lines into the ice. 

Sometimes you imagine Yuzu, or Javi, or both, chasing after you and move faster. Come and get me . More like never catch me. Not here, anyways. You want one space, just one space, that is yours. That glitters like snow in the mornings and is cold, and hard, and unforgiving.

This is your space. Your place of being. This is not a place for your lovers. In competitions you may share a rink, but not right now. 

Right now, beneath your blades, white cherry blossoms bloom.