The Small Red Dress

The small red dress

(which still smelled like cinnamon)

Lay crumpled

underneath the bed.

It had been there

for three long years

of waiting

(and that's a long time

for a small red dress.)

It had memories

stitched into it.

Old memories.

Sad memories.

Lonely, aching memories.

Like when it

was bought

by a bright-eyed young lady

who was going to a dance.

The dress remembered

when the young lady

saw him

he who she loved

and she smiled.

And the dress remembered

when, a month later

the young lady

came home crying.

And she tore the dress off it's hook

and stuffed it under her bed

and sobbed.

The dress waited.

Patiently.

But the young lady never wore the dress again

for another month passed

and one day

one fateful day

the young lady's body fell to the floor.

A knife was in her throat

and perhaps life was too much to bear.

Blood stained the floor

just as red

as the small dress

that was still

patiently waiting.