I love to dance. Ooh, honey. Let me stomp my feet and clap my hands like a flamenco dancer, using my fan as my tool to make my expression that much more grand. Let me sway my hips like a salsa dancer, embracing every curve that I own. Let me pump my chest like a hip hop dancer, expressing how strong and how hard I can go. I love to dance. I love feeling feminine and knowing that I have some hips and curves that I know how to move. And then let me have this dance of expression, telling a story, sharing a story with my body that you can only interpret if you look closely and feel deeply. I love dance. I love that dance is universal, that everybody does it, that everybody can do it, that anybody can do it. I love dance. I love that every piece of my body can tell a story and speak to my experience, and I love the freedom that dance gives me when I am freestyling in my home, dancing alone or worshiping God, hallelujah, I love to dance. I love to think I wish in my head that I could do singing in the rain and jump and have all those high kicks, but that’s okay. I’ll just do it in my head, and I’ll stick to swaying my hips. I love to dance. I love the costumes that people wear when they dance, like leotards and tights, as well as just elaborate colors, like in the Mexican hat dance, showing off their dresses and flowing with the dresses. I love a geisha who’s showing off her fan and her movement, telling a story. I love dance. It’s so beautiful. An experience. A time. A story. An art. I love dance.