You spent hours gradually removing each pink satin layer. As you placed each tattered panel over a doorway, bed, or on the floor... the room began to shimmer and your pale limbs were exposed.
I walked the streets for hours, searching for your home. My own fingers were hardened by the winter air as the water pouring down from the sky threatened to erase the features of my face.
Then suddenly, I noticed the pink fabric floating in puddles, draped over trees... hung from electric wires. I followed that path of pink, those iridescent fabric clues you left out for all to see. You wanted me to find you.
But by the time I entered, the water had already risen, and you were frantically trying to reattach your clothes to your useless frame. The fabric ballooned around you as you panicked. I rushed toward you, my legs heavy and raw with the burden of the frigid water. I tried to push you under, to hasten your reunion with your lost wardrobe. You struggled, but I persisted. The water rose higher.
Part of me died that night, in the company of satin and frosted limbs. The rest of me escaped, wearing one of your dresses... all my seams in tact. The will of the water is not as powerful as the might of my sorrow, and the cold of the wind cannot deter my ambition.
