the dress that used to fit

Scissors rhythmically sliced through the silk, the hemline of the skirt rising with each cut. The dress slipped over my shoulders and tightened around my body, it all needed to be perfect, the lilac silk must be perfect for what my thirteen-year-old self, considered the most important night of my life. Now as the lilac silk falls from my hands into the box of some of my dearest memories, I softly fold this dress to put away forever. “Can I kiss you?” His hands high up on the lilac silk dress covering my waist, scared to slip lower.  

No matter how perfect the hemline is, the best night of my life will not always be. Now all hands try their best to slip lower, and the lilac silk doesn’t hug my body the way it used to.