I wish I had a red dress...

All black everything it's what's comfortable to me now. I fade into the background and lead a life of monotony. I work a menial job for a meager salary. I drive a boring car and live in a modest dwelling void of any fancy decor. I don't have a lover, a dog, cat, fish...hell, I don't even have any plants. I don't cook anymore, my idea of a gourmet meal is honey drizzled on a bowl of cereal. I'm bored. When did life become this way?

Sometimes I dream to get away. I dream about living in warm climates with beautiful scenery and I'm just...fancy. I walk around with high-heels all the time with colorful dresses and wide, floppy hats and I'm fabulous. I speak with an air of importance and people wonder about me. They whisper about me. I hear them but I act like I don't. They whisper and speculate "I bet she's an actress, or an author...she must be important" they say. I leave huge tips for waitresses and walk as if I glide. I hop into my fancy yellow convertible and drive off into the distance with my hair playfully dancing around my face.

I'm interesting.

Sometimes I'm a singer. I picture myself standing behind the stage, with thousands of fans chanting my name. I let the excitment build and stroll confidently to the middle of the stage in my red dress. I stand there and strike a Diana with my arms spread wide and just look around. I have a big, luscious black afro, sometimes there's a flower in it. Maybe I'll blow kisses. I let them cheer. When I finally take hold of the microphone, the crowd falls silent. They all wait with baited breath to hear the melody come from within. I know what they want. I take a deep breath and open my mouth and the most soulful sounds emerge. I surprise myself. I'm beautiful. I'm wanted. I'm worlds away from menial and meager and modest. I'm interesting.

Sometimes I wish I had a red dress...