Winter White

“That some good can be derived from every event is a better proposition than that everything happens for the best, which it assuredly does not.” ––James K. Feibleman

Winter White

The evening air that spring was warm, almost sultry
as she danced in his arms,
she in a pink chiffon dress, ruffled at the neck,
he so handsome in a gray jacket and striped shirt,
she feeling something new
that she later recognized as love
long after he walked away from her,
too late for dreams to come true.

The brisk winter air was cool against her face
as she walked with him hand in hand on the paved path
and later danced in his arms,
she in a long-sleeved white knit dress,
he in a navy blue jacket and white shirt,
that night when commitment came
and with it a sense of belonging once hoped for
but lost that spring evening just a year before.

Color, she thought, was everything to her memory,
pink signaling hope,
winter white a coldness,
a loneliness she could not ever overcome.

Moments in her youth gone,
stored in the far recesses of her memory
where wishes and dreams still live on.

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