Welcome to yet another little escapade with your friendly neighbourhood Friday Fictioneers!
The dress in the shop window could have belonged to anyone.
He wouldn’t know, now; his memory started to go long ago, and his eyesight even before that. He cannot make out much more than an expanse of white over plastic limbs, and can barely recall the details of the dress he attempts to compare it to.
This dress, then, could have been hers. This sidewalk could be the aisle he once walked up, years before; this dress could mark the spot he once stopped, struck silent with awe.
This dress, again, could mark the end.
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