Slip your boldest thrift shop dress over your shoulders and wonder at all the lives it may have already lived before.
Curl the corner of your mouth when you think of first kisses on porch steps, the drone of a drive-in while pinkies twine on the bumper of a rickety ride that's really more rust than baby blue.
Or maybe it was something more like today: the shy autumn breeze rowing your window on its hinge, an oar in the stream, sending gauzy ripples tangling through your hair. You sit in a slice of sunlight on a worn wooden floor, finding yourself by losing these words.
Put this away.
Ask if it knows what moments it might hold you in.
Ask your skin the same question.
Curl the corner of your mouth and carefully paint rouge between two laughing lips because that little girl loved everything bright. And, since soft smiles have never been what you're known for,
Always choose the red.