Everything feels more intense. My skin responds to every breeze, every brush of an insect wing or blade of grass, every flutter of my dress.
I am more than alive, I am life. The often overwhelming disagreement inside my head silenced.
The simple act of slipping on a dress which means so little to most is an act of exuberance to her. Like unlocking handcuffs that have been worn for a lifetime.
In that dress, she is freedom and flight, grace and mercy, beauty in a form that is so bright, it is almost blinding.
A simple dress settles the distress of forty years held captive in ill-fitting trousers meant to subdue and yet inflate. There is supposed to be power inside those two legged garments.
But in this dress, I feel more powerful than ever before. She is being true to herself. Finally. Permanently.
I am her. She is me. We both have a secret.
It lies within that dress.