The Dress I Never Wore

I unearth the weight of lace,

layer after layer, each fold still firm,

it pulls like an old song,

shivering against my skin,

as dust motes swirl, curling

like fragments of days I can’t reclaim.

The mirror reflects back a ghost,

perhaps a future I thought I’d wear,

a moment caught in static,

flashes of silk that never gleamed

in sunlight, lost amongst

these crowded dreams I packed away.

I trace the hem, feeling its coolness,

a fabric of wishes left unworn,

like shadows on walls, fading softly,

and here it hangs, a weight suspended,

a gentle haunting, clinging,

while outside the world marches,

every step a reminder,

what I never wore lies heavy—

a promise stranded in fabric and time.