The Pretty Little Red Dress

The Pretty Little Red Dress from that store.

The Pretty Little Red Dress from that Store.

I can't stop thinking about how pretty it was.

I cannot stop thinking about how it was made.

Was it made with love? Is it unique?

I never saw a dress as beautiful as that little one. I wonder if by the time I have it, will other pretty little dress catch my eye and I'll forget about how mesmerized I was for my pretty little one from that store.

Will I keep it in my closet with the doors closed?

Maybe with some wine stains, or some lint, will I remember how i used to feel curiosity of knowing if it was made with love? Will I ever have another thought of the hands who made it so beautiful? Will I ever again give any care of it uniqueness?

I can't stop thinking about how pretty that little red dress was.

I wonder if I'll wear it for a long time, if I will still love it with the stains on.

Or if it was just the brite red colour of the fabric witch catched my eye for a second... The thinking of how smooth would feel on my skin... How everyone would see how beautifully it suits my body.

Maybe I'll be the one who spills the red wine stains on his beauty. Or crack a hole on his lap.

And so I will be the one who throws it away when it does no longer feel soft on my skin, or beautifully suits my body.

I can't stop thinking of how beautiful my Pretty Little Red Dress was.