I wore the same dress tonight as I did last night.
I wore it Tuesday night, too.
I wore it for you. I don't know where you are. I don't know who you are.
I wore this dress to a party last night. I didn't have anyone to talk to. I sat in this dress alone, sipping a mojito with too much mint in it. I hoped not to spill my drink on my dress.
I left the party early in this dress, and went to my car and took it off on the street. I left this dress in the car while I took a walk in shorts and a t-shirt as the sun set, lying down on the Silver Lake Meadow with bare feet, watching a couple play soccer with a too-small ball, blocking the setting sun with my crossed legs.
I put this dress back on and sat in it in the dark at the movies.
I took this dress off and went to bed early.
I put this dress back on tonight, and I still didn't find you. I don't know what I'm looking for. I don't know if you've seen me.
I took this dress off tonight and hung it on its hook. I slipped it over my head and slung it away for the night.
I might put it back on tomorrow.
I might sleep in it tomorrow.
Just in case you visit me in the middle of the night.
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