Pink Dress

He’s never liked it on me. He said it drowned me. It was a little big, I admit. But she bought it for me as a birthday present. Nevertheless, I gave it away a few days ago. And then last night, in my dream, there was a man who walked passed me in a cafe wearing it. He had it over his jeans. He smiled at me as he passed. I knew his face. He was small, grey-haired, quite handsome. Who was he? I wanted to tell him that I’d seen my dress. He would’ve laughed then, as he did when I told him this morning.

Her cat has had another litter of kittens. Five this time. She told me how her daughter sat with her during it, rubbing her tummy. I asked about her tomatoes. One has ripened. Only one. And she told me how the collie had been frightened of the thunder. I love to hear her tales. Am I doing wrong in sharing them with you? I keep her name safe. She is safe. It’s another life to me and one that I cherish being a part of however small.

Another project to start. It always makes me a little nervous even if it is just for myself. I worry so much about failing. Being clumsy, foolish. I feel so small. A little jot on the earth. So be it. Can’t that be OK?

By Ellen Bell

Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.