The soft skirt swirled around her legs
falling gently to her feet.
She stared into the mirror,
thinking ‘is this it?’

But there were others.
What if she failed
to recognise the perfect one?
The only one.

The heap of discarded
dress filled the cubicle,
as certainty eluded her
and nothing was ‘it’.

She was exhausted,
as each dress became
just another question
How could she decide?

Then behind the pile
she suddenly saw it,
deep black velvet
reflecting her fears.

The perfect dress.
It fitted her just right,
that dress of midnight black
for a wedding she didn’t want.