There's this dress, it's a fairly modest, black number that stops just below my knee. It lives in the back of my closet and under and other circumstances it would probably be a pretty cute dress. If someone else had selected it off the rack the dress might have gone to dinner, dancing or even to a show; but I purchased it.
I remember the day I found it, usually I don't mind shopping but this trip wasn't fun. My best friend helped me through it, we found the dress shoved between would be prom dresses. I wore it to my grandfathers funeral. I don't know if I've ever cried so much in my life, I thought I might be fine. It was an event that we saw coming afterall. I sat in the pew, face unmoving, told myself I was fine, this was a natural part of life but something took hold and I was unable to control myself. Now when I look at this dress in the back of my closet I think of that day.
I'm wearing it again today. I'm beginning to hate this dress, but it's not the dress's fault.
No comments:
Post a Comment