Lone figure on skates, a 3D-sihouette in black clothing. Pale light – yellow, mint, blue – in intricate patterns on the ice. Fluid, lithe movements, a celebration of pop turned poetry.
Muscles moving under the cloth, it looks so easy though virtually impossible. Synched with the still-soft music his glide turns into a triple toe-loop. Power veiled in grace.
He moves.
Music moves.
Time stops, grace-caught.
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