Tulle is a Weighty Passion

Fabric is a strange animal. It can crease in all the wrong places, feel like pissed-on cardboard, and smell like mothballs, or it can drape and cinch and seduce your skin with textures and patterns you never knew you loved. Sometimes, I hate tulle. That wispy, good-for-nothing fairytale of a fabric, embodying my best memories of dressing up as Glinda the Good Witch when I was seven years old.

Lately, and by lately I mean in the past two years, I’ve had a strange fascination with this one dress, tea-length, with a full tulle skirt flaring out from a satiny dropped waist. I wanted it for my graduation dress, but I would have had to order it from overseas and that’s just a little too much of a gamble for a cynic like me.

I have a shortcut to this dress in my bookmarks bar. When I feel stressed out, unhappy, or just fed up with the world, I click on the link and take in all the soft, sweet curves of this dress. Everything about it, the suggested shoes included, make me sigh with the perfection of some things on this earth.

So here. Have a little taste of tulle perfection. (click on the picture to see the rest of it)

Look at this. Ignore the petulant look on the model's face and just drink in the quiet, understated beauty of this garment.

Look at this. Ignore the petulant look on the model’s face and just drink in the quiet, understated beauty of this garment.

I think it’s like cars for some people.

Falling

I’m looking out the window and it’s raining
And I’m wishing I was out there with you
With life running down our cheeks;
Happiness increasing with each drop tracing across
And under our skin, setting our eyes afire with the knowledge
That I’ll never tire of your touch.

I want to stand on your toes, and step where you step
I want to arrange a time and place for your lips to meet mine
Over coffee, and maybe after they could take a walk.
I want to know you behind your smile.

I want to throw myself across the space between us and hold you,
Like there’s a time limit for the idea of us
But we’re slowing down the clock so that each second
Seems like an hour.

And every hour I spend with you is like
An injection of peace
And every second I spend away from you
Is like a lease, like a debt I can’t repay, like time is a bank vault
Locking each moment of aching loneliness away.

And I know sometimes I get worried,
Worried that I’ve said too much and you’ll start avoiding me
Worried that I’ve drowned your affection in my own;
Too late for resuscitation or a loan of
Breath from my lungs.

But it’s a transient state of disquiet that evaporates
Like the steam on the bathroom mirror in which I traced the words
‘I love you’.
We might end. But I hope to skies of spirits
That it isn’t soon.

Because this ancient emotion feels like a revelation,
And I’m reevaluating my diction into the words that lovers use.

And this sensation confuses me, because I’m not used to
This carved out hole in the side of me
That marks your absence;
I’m not accustomed to finding want in solitude;
But I could exist with you for days and days and find myself missing you
If you left for an hour.

And this overpowering awareness of the space where you could be
Is like trying to ignore an addiction, it’s a contradiction
To all that’s glorious and free.

Over time, I’ve learned cynicism to be the best ism to follow when falling in love,
But my surety is slowly eroding away, the cracks filled by fidelity
And the solemnity of ascending to something higher
And sweeter than anything I would have ever known to dream of
Before you.

I want to thank you
For making me feel like a live wire cut from a telephone pole when you’re around me,
For making each brush of your lips a story,
For making each page of each story full of suspense, without
Common sense or inhibitions,
Without definition of boundaries or conditions
Each intermission filled with reverence
And only the position of hands on the clock can bring us back to reality.

There are times when I wish I could plot each point
Charting a voyage from your thoughts to mine
Running a ruler across a map of cerebral connections
Just to find out what you’re thinking.

But I know that silence can be beautiful,
Because silence with you is often unusual,
Crystalline in its perfection
Every moment a reflection of quieted passion rippling from our bodies,
Breathing in harmony with understanding
Falling in tandem into something deeper than expected.

And I know alone is okay,
But somehow alone is just an echo
Of being with you.

I wrote this ages ago, during the first few months of my now-almost-two-year relationship with my love. Everything was such an incredible revelation, I can still conjure up the intense feelings that I tried so hard to put into words. This is meant to be spoken; whisper it to yourself. If you have this, rejoice. If you don’t, wait; it will come to you.

© Emily Bragg 2013