Love letter to the girl in the beautiful dress

I noticed you earlier in town. I was idling over a long black, not really doing anything, when you emerged from the city throng, like a vessel long ensnared beneath, afloat at last. Bathed in light.

We did not speak. Nary a glance was passed between us. You just sat nearby, took out a notebook and, deep in thought, scratched out whatever was on your mind. Nothing spectacular. No toss of a golden mane. No curvaceous swagger. But oh what a beautiful dress you had on.

In truth, this is what I noticed first. The gorgeous flow of light floral patterned material. Hem just above the knee. Showing off your lovely form, accenting the cool alabaster of your skin and the lustrous sable of your long hair. Truly, you cut such an elegant figure; so subtle, with a femininity refined and assured. How you stood out from the parade, floated above the commonplace slurry of fashion trash. Such a glorious, understated enigma.

And then, a few minutes later, your task complete, you got up, paused as though to take stock, and walked away. Within thirty seconds I had lost track of you, the fleeting vision of your grace, subsumed once more. The girl in the beautiful dress – swallowed by the drab, city street heave.

Of course, you will never know. Truth is, you will likely never think again of those slow minutes this afternoon, when your pen moved in swirls and the eye of the beholder was entranced. You just went about your day, never knowing that, hours later, a trace of your splendour would still be flowering in the heart and the fancy of a man you will never know. That the mere sight you, in that simple, fetching dress has left the imprint of beauty on the world.

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