Sunday, November 24, 2019
Free Essays on Beloved Red Dress
Beloved red dress Memories are a fragile thing, if you donââ¬â¢t grasp on to them they can be lost forever. For the past two weeks I have been packing my things and preparing to move. The house is sold, the boxes are full, and the truck has arrived. It was moving day. Upon arrival at the new house I was amazed by the amount of dust that had built up on the box tops over the past few days. It seemed like there was dust and dirt everywhere, the more I tried to clean; the more the dirt accumulated. It was the strangest thing I had ever seen. Between all the dusting, unpacking, family, school, and work I was overwhelmed. Slowly but surly the once tight string that held my sanity together began to unravel. I decided to go take a brake to gather myself back together. While resting in the living room I noticed a box in the corner that looked a little out of place. I canââ¬â¢t put my finger on what exactly looked out of place, but I felt the need to open the box. Inside the box, on top of some old books, was my beloved red dress. Instantly I was taken back to the last time I had worn it. September 27, 2004, it was the night Dusten proposed to me. That night was the single most wonderful night of my life to date. I remember it like it was yesterday. Dusten made reservations at the Bistro; it was our favorite restaurant in Astoria, OR. The catch however, was that he reserved the entire restaurant, so we had it all to ourselves. The smell of garlic, fresh bread, and honey over powered the sweet candy like smell of the flower arrangement he had given me. After the meal all you could smell was the hundred or so vanilla candles that lit the room giving off the most romantic glow. All these smells somehow seemed comforting and relaxing. Even the smell of the wine was delightful. I wish Glade made a plug-in scent of those perfect smells. The harmonious mixture of scents could keep my heart beating for all eternity. I remember looking deep into... Free Essays on Beloved Red Dress Free Essays on Beloved Red Dress Beloved red dress Memories are a fragile thing, if you donââ¬â¢t grasp on to them they can be lost forever. For the past two weeks I have been packing my things and preparing to move. The house is sold, the boxes are full, and the truck has arrived. It was moving day. Upon arrival at the new house I was amazed by the amount of dust that had built up on the box tops over the past few days. It seemed like there was dust and dirt everywhere, the more I tried to clean; the more the dirt accumulated. It was the strangest thing I had ever seen. Between all the dusting, unpacking, family, school, and work I was overwhelmed. Slowly but surly the once tight string that held my sanity together began to unravel. I decided to go take a brake to gather myself back together. While resting in the living room I noticed a box in the corner that looked a little out of place. I canââ¬â¢t put my finger on what exactly looked out of place, but I felt the need to open the box. Inside the box, on top of some old books, was my beloved red dress. Instantly I was taken back to the last time I had worn it. September 27, 2004, it was the night Dusten proposed to me. That night was the single most wonderful night of my life to date. I remember it like it was yesterday. Dusten made reservations at the Bistro; it was our favorite restaurant in Astoria, OR. The catch however, was that he reserved the entire restaurant, so we had it all to ourselves. The smell of garlic, fresh bread, and honey over powered the sweet candy like smell of the flower arrangement he had given me. After the meal all you could smell was the hundred or so vanilla candles that lit the room giving off the most romantic glow. All these smells somehow seemed comforting and relaxing. Even the smell of the wine was delightful. I wish Glade made a plug-in scent of those perfect smells. The harmonious mixture of scents could keep my heart beating for all eternity. I remember looking deep into...
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.