I change to disguise a truth perceived as wrong. I change to hide a truth that might hurt or anger someone I love.
But this has nothing to do with Michael, nothing to do with this ring on my finger, the promise I made to marry him. This has to do with my heart and sometimes the heart has its own rules. It’s own propriety. Sometimes the heart knows better when it commands you to act.
In the trunk of my car lies the memory of this night, a hidden fabric dream, tangible; the one I hide from my fiancée, the one he will never touch. There is nothing basic about it. That dress. This evening. This secret. This longing.