That’s her. Standing there in the pink dress. Pigeon toes and dark sunglasses. Toes turned in in too tall boots. Choking back the feeling that even that dress won’t make her a little girl again. Won’t wipe off the smeared makeup her skin remembers, from too many nights fighting an innocence she’ll never tell she treasures. It’s hunting dear, clear as day. She’s looking for invincibility, hoping it will inspire her. Inspire him. To see her as she was, brave and wise under her freckles. Hoping those tiny fluttering sleeves with soften the harsh reality that with every passing second she’s farther from who she planned to be.
A shock of fuschia on a grey sidewalk, that dress is the last tether between her and a dream she thought she’d lost. Not a stitch of white on her body, there’ll be no surrender here today.
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