The Dress is Poetry

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The black dress swirls when she spins.

It follows her movements and seems to know exactly where she wants to go.

It knows where she’s been and where she is destined to visit.

The little girl’s favorite dress is her paper.

It holds her future and remembers her past.

It helps her enjoy the present.

 

The black dress is older now.

As is the girl.

It is a little shorter since she has grown, but fits well all the same.

The memories waft from the fabric and takes the girl on a ride.

When she fell off her bike, when she last saw her father

It is there.

The older girl’s dress is her pen.

It flows across the pages of her life.

It still knows every feeling she’s ever had.

The black dress seems to be the same.

 

A woman steps out of her office.

She has on a black dress.

It reminds her of her childhood for some reason.

The black dress is poetry.

It is the pen and paper that holds her life in their hands.

The girl grew older and the dress never left her.

It never changes, but in spite of it all, manages to evolve.

A deep sorrow creeps into the woman’s heart.

She rushes home and up to her attic, opening a chest.

The black dress is there.

She hugs it and remembers.

The black dress is poetry.

Forever in motion, Forever evolving, and Forever there.

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