"...I am nothing of a builder..."
Written 7-27-09 1:05 a.m.
Disclaimer:
This is completely raw and unedited. I note that some revisions should be made.
I found my wedding dress today.
It was no longer preserved or pristine---I recovered it hastily shoved into an old piece of luggage by his callous, now disillusioned hands.
I wondered, if it could feel, what emotions the dress would be experiencing.
Would it remember the day I specifically selected it or better yet, the when I put in on the day ceremony?
How carefully I'd smoothed its wrinkles--the new bracelets dangled, matching so well--my mother's borrowed diamonds--the hue of aqua I'd chosen for my undergarments....
Would it know how beautiful it made me feel? Would it understand the intensity it was present for at the utterance of two simplistic words?
Would it recall, I wondered, how lovingly it had hung neatly in our closet for years, occasionally fingered over while he or I reminisced about that day in March?
Would it remember how much I loved it?
Of course not. For it is just a dress--a simple garment--a now tainted symbol of a once seemingly eternal bond.
I wondered then, were I to allow myself to feel, what emotions might sweep over me...
I decided to dismiss such thoughts.
As I am just a woman and the past is just the past.
I shook it out and looked the dress over. I searched for the instructions to launder it for the first time ever and couldn't find them.
Searching and searching, I began to manically--almost frantically--search for the tag.
It were as though the dress were mocking me--forcing me to remember and daring me to forget.
And then it hit me:
The scent.
The smell of our home.
The aroma of six years.
The olfactory overload of the life we had tried and failed to build.
Then came the onslaught of emotion that I no longer had the choice to ignore...
After all,
I AM just a woman--
--but is the past just the past?
Disclaimer:
This is completely raw and unedited. I note that some revisions should be made.
I found my wedding dress today.
It was no longer preserved or pristine---I recovered it hastily shoved into an old piece of luggage by his callous, now disillusioned hands.
I wondered, if it could feel, what emotions the dress would be experiencing.
Would it remember the day I specifically selected it or better yet, the when I put in on the day ceremony?
How carefully I'd smoothed its wrinkles--the new bracelets dangled, matching so well--my mother's borrowed diamonds--the hue of aqua I'd chosen for my undergarments....
Would it know how beautiful it made me feel? Would it understand the intensity it was present for at the utterance of two simplistic words?
Would it recall, I wondered, how lovingly it had hung neatly in our closet for years, occasionally fingered over while he or I reminisced about that day in March?
Would it remember how much I loved it?
Of course not. For it is just a dress--a simple garment--a now tainted symbol of a once seemingly eternal bond.
I wondered then, were I to allow myself to feel, what emotions might sweep over me...
I decided to dismiss such thoughts.
As I am just a woman and the past is just the past.
I shook it out and looked the dress over. I searched for the instructions to launder it for the first time ever and couldn't find them.
Searching and searching, I began to manically--almost frantically--search for the tag.
It were as though the dress were mocking me--forcing me to remember and daring me to forget.
And then it hit me:
The scent.
The smell of our home.
The aroma of six years.
The olfactory overload of the life we had tried and failed to build.
Then came the onslaught of emotion that I no longer had the choice to ignore...
After all,
I AM just a woman--
--but is the past just the past?