She stepped out of the building looking like she was responsible for the golden sunlight of the fresh, dewy morning.

A coffee cup in her hand stained at the rim with a touch of coral lipstick; she wears a shift dress of vibrant pinks and greens, she looks like the patron saint of flowers and the purveyor of an eternal spring. This is the type of woman who makes you want to believe: In a timeless elegance, in drinking champagne every day at breakfast, in the bright sparkle of possibility and light yellow laughter. She opens up, blooming towards the sky as if she was a flower. And suddenly, you can smile again, you can look out a window and see colors and shapes and patterns that you want to make into a dress. There is no notion of anger or sadness. Everything is just right, so long as flowers bloom, the sun shines, and the click of her heels can be heard as she parades down fifth avenue.