I bought this dress last year when I moved back to Melbourne. Where everything old seemed new again.
It was my thirtieth birthday soon after I arrived. I wanted to wear an old new dress, a new old dress, and I found a flouncy flambé, a blush crush. Did it cost too much, this frou-frou, this frippery? Of course it did, but you don’t care about the price you pay when you fall in love with something.
It cost me a lot but there’s one thing that I got.
I bought this dress last year when I moved back to Melbourne, a city with so many reflective surfaces I could see myself in it everywhere. In windows and sliding doors. In the iPhones everyone had acquired while I was away. In bike reflectors and the seed-like eyes of seagulls peppering the night sky. Melburnians, their faces buffed by Antarctic squalls, so shiny: I started to think that maybe I could see myself in them again too.
I came back to an old city that was toasty and warm, had risen, had rose.
What’s the difference if I say I’ll go away when I know I’ll come back on my knees someday?
Came back. Should have been seeking out a new life but instead I gravitated towards the old. Always do. I found one of my favourite movies at a garage sale, Funny Girl.
Barbra Streisand and Omar Sharif. She’s a showgirl, he’s a gambler. Lord help me but I will never tire of such a partnership. Can watch it forever.
The Follies and the follies. When you return to a place everything you ran away from is still there. Shining back. In your face. Makes it hard to see anything clearly. She’s still a showgirl; he’s still a gambler.
The weather was freezing on my birthday so I couldn’t wear the party dress after all. I’d been away too long; forgot about that sudden Antarctic chill.
Oh my man I love him so he’ll never know.
Some things make no sense until you put a stop to them.
Oh my man I love him so. He’ll never know.