Summer Dress
I saw a woman that beautifully commanded the summer dress she was wearing, and i wrote this.
The blue leaves were long, impossibly long, cascading down her frame like a living waterfall. They clung to her chest, coiled around her slender waist, and spilled down her legs, each strand a unique embrace—separate yet harmonious, chaotic yet tender. She wore this beautiful contradiction with such grace that, for a fleeting moment, she became a cloud garden drifting along the side of the street, ethereal and untouchable.
My heart bled a sorrowful melody, for it knew the brain had already made its cold, calculated decision. The heart never understood the brain. "Why does fear always hold us back?" it would cry. "I’m the one who does all the work, beating harder, faster, keeping us alive. And you—you who merely sit and think, you tell me no. Not the right time, not the right feeling, not the right place, not the right anything. Your fear has cost us everything and gained us nothing."
As the woman and her blue garden began to walk away, the heart, powerless and defeated, could only roll its eyes skyward. Tears fell, sparing it the final, woeful sight of her departure. The ache lingered, a silent requiem for what could have been.
R
