A black dress cascaded over your stickly figure.
A black dress that belonged to the girl.
The girl I tried to get over you with.
His arm was over your shoulder.
But you didn’t quite fit in it.
He got you that night.
He got the last slow dance.
The dance that should have been mine.
Even though you were no longer mine, if ever.
We had just been childish teenage girls falling in love.
And you never sparkled like you had in that moment when
A black dress cascaded over your stickly figure.
A black dress that belonged to the girl.
The girl I tried to get over you with.
And his arm over your shoulder.
Where I wished I could be.
Because you fit right.
Before we grew.