小时候，我的梦里总飘着德加画里的舞者。

The Degas prints of dancers haunted all my childhood dreams.

我常常舒展身体，仿佛走出画框，在舞台上空轻轻飘浮。

I would stretch, then leave the frame to float above the stage.

可我始终学不会劈叉，也跳不起来。

But I could never do the splits or jump into the air.

舞鞋磨得脚趾和骨头生疼，每次下课都一瘸一拐。

My ballet shoes bruised toes and bones. I left each dance class limping.

我的身体终于扛不住了，我只能承认自己不行。

My body finally said enough. I had to concede failure.

把磨坏的舞鞋，藏在了爸爸的工具箱后面。

I hid my beat-up ballet shoes behind my father's toolbox.

如今我早已过了跳舞的年纪，却依然记得

Now I am far too old to dance, but I can still remember

站在舞台上，仿佛要一直跳到永远的那份心动。

the thrill of standing on the stage to dance into forever.