She was flying, zooming by like a car. The brown rings were the only things carrying her up as she swung herself around the stage, she was high up. I had to look up with awe. That was all I could do. All I did was stare at her. The way her red dress flowed beside her as she flew, literally flew on the Circus Sky.

I believe this show was closed.

I was the only one watching.

She was dancing for me.

Her performance was made because of me.

I inspired her.

She Inspired me.

Her hair matched the passion of her dress, catching my own chest, my heart beating with the loud song.

I didn't need the music to feel the meaning of each movement, each swoon, each flight.

It was magical.

It was spectacular.

Just because she was there.

In the       Circus Sky.

~~~~~~~

"Hi, Henry," I heard her say, her voice for the first time, a lusterious surprise.

I turned towards the voice and I found her.

My once distracted state was suddenly standing still. I was in love then. So aware of everything, as I felt my breath breathe between us. She smiled, not awkwardly, but as if she had found me.

That was the first time we met.

I wondered how Lyndsey had known my name. But I didn't have to know that.

Because I knew.

She was so aware. She had found me. And because of that, I was aware and I knew too, what her name was.

~~~~~~~

We ran down mountains, the green hills fading behind us, hand in hand. We were laughing, I was excited, quite scared.

She had been dancing, we had been trespassing.

We almost got caught, but the next day in the fields, we kept running as if we had no worries. Well...
because there weren't.

Days became more days, into months, and then years.

I knew I was in love with her. I just knew, that when I was with her, I swooned, I swirmed through the sky, inventing new words because I was suddenly able to explore. I could be! Because I was!

We played games.

Like little kids would.

She kissed my lips, as if we were best friends.

She smiled as if I were hers.

She danced, like it was her first time.

Giggling, like a mess. Her hair swirling in a circle beside her. It was always sunny when she was around, I was always sunny when she was around.

When she was.

But, she was dangerous. And it was hard to realize that.

There were scabs on her perfect fingers, she had bruises beneath her lips, they were swollen by the hits. There were numbers on her hips. She has been flying too high.

She said she found refugee in me, but she barely told me much before swallowing herself in my lips.

I supposed I was her refugee.

I thought so, so I wrapped my arms around her, easily even. Feeling the way her curvs sunk, making space for my own fingers, letting me plant my own marks on hers. I would undo all the hurt they did to her, her climbing, and flying did to her.

But, it seemed, she always went back to the flying, always grew higher, swimming deeper, losing touch faster and faster. I could see it in her eyes. She was in love. She was at peace. The flying was her refugee. I was just temporary.

All the while, we wore tuxedos to events, her dress was long, her heels were high. I didn't have to guide her through the doors, she was fully confident, but she let me wrap my elbow around hers.

She accepted a dance with me in front of countless. She wasn't afraid to show me off.

But, I should've known, she was just showing off her skills, her dancing.

I wasn't a dancer. I was lousy. Yet she knew that.

So I thought she loved me. She loved me so much, she accepted me enough to dance with me in public.

She had taught me to count the music, to feel the beat, and I did. I felt it.

I kissed her, lost in thought, she kissed my cheek gently, always so subtle. That was her style with me, it was either a desperate gasping mess, or a humble peck.

Nobody knew her other side, but me.

"Lyndsey," I called her once, she snapped her neck, it was harsh and it was angry. I shut up.

I called her Madame Madeline from then on, continuing exactly the kind of image she wanted to show to the world.

Nobody could know about her aurburn hair or the way her body swayed in a wrapped dress. Nobody could know that she flew, beyond sky's reach, beyond the lips of a star.

She was the star.

She could go wherever. But nobody knew that. And nobody knew that she brought me with her, and nobody knew that she pushed me away too.

Right after I kissed all the pain away and told her countless times, I loved her.

And I did.

I do.

But she didn't listen.

The words whispered away in her ear and she was looking to the sky again, hearing the birds instead, watching out for constellations instead.

instead
of the burned building ahead,
or the police behind,

she noticed of course, but she didn't pay notice.

And then she'd run again, in her jeans. In her track suit, in the daylight, with bangs or a headband. Maybe it was earmuffs, or maybe it was small cut. On her forehead this time?

She was always running, causing trouble, nobody finding out it was her.

She couldn't let them know.

No, so she flew.

She flew, for the cost of pain and hiding her other parts.

So at those events, with old men, fat men, fancy men, young men, tall men, all staring at her, eyeing her backless strap, watching her sway as she walked, observing the way her eyes revealed themselves behind her bangs, she let them.

In fact, she encouraged them. She used them.

She used me.

She didn't tell me that though,

she just gave me that look.

Suddenly she was hypnotizing me too, but this time, I knew her play, I knew her act.

She wasn't doing it only for me at these parties. No.

There were other men.

I was the only one she held, the only one she pulled, she stared me deep in the eyes letting me see her hazel orbs.

I was the one who discovered her gift and how she had passed it onto me.

I was aware now. Because of her.

I was able to fly with her and be aware of my surroundings. Especially in a place like this where we had to keep undercover.

I knew her plan was to entice the men, she twirled her spoon in her drink, batting her eyes, and landing a hand on their shoulders. Fat shoulders.

I observed them all, all the men observing her.

And I was exactly like them.

Though I was special enough to dance with her, I was just like them.

A pawn in her game.

She got them drunk off her looks and she slipped a deal inside their drinks.

At least I knew this as they called her by her special name.

They were pleading her to stay, but she had done her job, got herself a gig to a new show, a new flying performance. She was willing to sell herself, stoop low to receive exactly what she wanted, just to get a chance to fly.

I applauded her many times before on her accomplishments. But on that night, I knew how different and dangerous, even bad, she was.

I was finally able to see her through a different lens, the one out of the love facade.

I saw myself in those men, but saw how it was different now when she acted it directly for them instead of at only me.

I was grounded, I was her anchor here, I wasn't her focus.  so I knew before she gave me that look after her discussions with the disgusting men. Just like in wine clubs, or casinos bars, or behind a dark alley. All those incidents, they all made sense now.

She was indeed using me, she was indeed seeking for that refuge of flying. I was not her refuge. But, still, she came to me. Because with those eyes, I couldn't resist her warnings.

And I ran, even with the slight hesitation.

I ran towards her,

catching up to her, and reaching the getaway car.

Meeting her gaze, shutting the door behind her, without even a glance back at the poisoned men.

They had been marked by her bite, without them knowing it.

But I did.

I suddenly knew why she ran. And I suddenly knew why she had to go before they found out.

Nobody knew this was a getaway car, convertable Porsche in this case.

But I knew now, and I drove her back to safety that night, like nothing had happened, nothing had changed. But see, things had changed.

She wasn't in love and I couldn't look at her the same way.

She stared ahead, but I couldn't help but look at her, observing her profile, trying to catch an emotion on her face, a realization, a confession.

Nothing.

I only caught glimpses of the sun in her hair, I only looked at how tight the bun was behind her head. And yet, I was still in love.

Even as we drove till night dawned over, and we were out of the country, past the city full of big skyscrapers, and to then find a shappy alley way. Almost just like we had started.

I stoped the car, the engine was still running. It was as if I knew to keep it on, a self-conscious habit, just in case she did get caught, at least we were ready to run.

But this time, at the loft. It had to change, things had to change.

I looked towards her, watched her stay silent, staring at the brick wall. I thought she didn't know anything, but she did.

"Things have changed," her voice rose, but it was a small seed that never got planted. Her words skipped away into the night.

She didn't look at me, she stared forward.

I didn't know if she had actually said those words. I couldn't think about it.

She stepped out of the cushioned car, her slim figure standing beside the door before slamming it shut.

She was off to flying.

Flying on her own now.

I always wondered if in that loft, there was a trapeze just for her to swing on, or a trampoline for her to practice or a lift to help her jump. But, she was a natural.

And when I saw her perform that night, many years later. I knew, this was meant to be.

It was meant to be for me to be her escort for all those years, for me to have fallen so deeply in love with her, and to have let her fall into me so deeply with each claw she dug in me.

It was worth it, because now, she was truly flying. And it wasn't for any of them.

It was for her. It was for her this time.

I didn't see her running. But if she were, at least I'm not running with her. At least I get to see her one last time just flying.

At least, I get to imagine her flying to Circus Sky.

Q & A

¿What do you think the flying represents?

¿What are your thoughts?

¿Any symbolic connections on our reality ?

¿Now that you see the playlist, can you see the story in these songs?

Share your (story- thought process) here ☞

✿༺  𝙿𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝  ༻✿

~Getaway Car (Taylor Swift)~

~Now That We Don't Talk (Taylor's Version)
(From The Vault)~

~Is It Over Now? (Taylor's Version)
(From The Vault)~

✿༺  ██▓▒­░⡷⠂ᑕ𝚒𝚛𝚌𝚞𝚜⠐𝕊𝕜𝕪⢾░▒▓██  ༻✿

I think it's safe to say that it's over now and that they don't talk anymore. He doesn't need to use his Getaway car;)