I've heard of a dancer.
He lives alone, in a massively large house.
Three floors, no furniture, except his bed.
No chairs, do you comprehend? I find it hard to.

But the bed, oh, what a bed!
Greek gods didn't sleep on clouds as comfortable.
It's body a splendid mixture of mahogany and cherry wood,
and metals of the sorts,
beautifully crafted, sculpted by the hands of the finest of
the fine.
A mattress to die for, layers upon layers, quilted with
plush cotton.
I, myself, would be scared to lie on it.
After all, how could one convince one's self to get up,
after having placed
one's weight on top of this beauty?

But enough about the damn bed.
The dancer.
He is ill with cancer.
This is a known fact amongst us narrators.
We know not what type of cancer possesses the dancer.
Fatal? Minor? We can only guess.

Why do I continue to talk about the cancer?
I ask myself that question, too.

The house, no furniture.
What is in the house then, if not furniture?
Why, space. Lots of space.
Boring? Maybe, but I tend to think not.
Space for what?

Oh, for the air! The gases of nature exploit this space,
as do the rays of light and heat which the sun bellows at us
with it's
superior enormousness.
They glide. They dance in the space.

And the dancer, he dances with them.
He controls the light, the heat, the rays, the sun, the
space.
And they control him.
He is pure in his house, in his world, in his own religion.

The dancer dances to music that no ear could ever hear.
This is the music you can feel.
This is the music you can see, when you look at the face of
the dancer.
When he dances, it is almost as if the music is dancing to
him,
and not the other way around.
He controls the music. He composes with his moves.

The dancer has cancer, I remind you.
He is only human, he can not dance forever.
He will get tired, as I will, and as you may be of this
story.
And when he does, he will stop dancing for the day.
Gliding towards his bed (oh, what a bed!), he bids
farewell.

Farewell music, farewell light of day.
Farewell to the space and air, which have accompanied me
through the day.
Farewell to you, cancer.

I bid you all farewell, and we will meet again, with
sunrise.