On the ice, there is a story I’m painting
Every move, every leap, every glide,
Each motion carries me deep in this art,
And I lose myself, letting go of all the restrictions, freeing my soul.
There is a sharpness to it all,
The biting cold against my skin,
The rhythmic sounds of my blades crushing the ice,
A noise almost soothing-like a steady pace to my own heartbeat.
I push through the pain in my throbbing ankle
A quiet reminder that I’m a human after all.
It fades with every spin, every perfect arc I make
The fluidity pulling me away from the ache and everything outside the rink.
The Lutz sends me into the air, a fleeting moment in weightlessness,
And I land, the ice catching me in its tender embrace.
I surrender myself to the Salchow, the spinning effortless,
Trusting the ice beneath me.
A Hydroblade follows, and at that moment I become one with the ice
My body merges with my dream, never wanting to leave.
I throw in an Axel, a sudden burst of energy
A flash of light in the midst of the scenery I’m creating.
I’m painting with brushstrokes, and the frost is my canvas,
At this moment, nothing else exists, it is infinite, the frozen elegance.
When I skate, I’m telling a story, one filled with passion, freedom, grace;
And every second of it is everything I’ve ever dreamed of.
April, 2025
