You see, I don't really care for the color orange in clothing and barring a phase in fifth grade where I decided I loved that neon-not-quite-orange-cone color of orangy-yellow for a while, I don't think I've ever owned any.
So when I dreamed about wearing an orange dress that I thought was beautiful, it stuck in my memory. I wrote it down, I remember writing it down, and I could even dig it out of my journals if required. To call it orange is really sort of cheating, because when I say "orange" I think of pumpkins and citrus, and this dress was truly flame-colored, with depth and shimmer in the fabric. Red-orange, or even almost bluish-red-orange. And I woke up and tried to draw it, and failed miserably, so I wrote the dream down and that was that.
Until this morning I'm walking past Cicada on 1st Avenue and there is my dress, in the window. I looked on the website for a picture, and while their party dresses collection has photos of the two gowns in the window with it, I couldn't find it itself. There are a couple of dresses in the collection made from that flame-colored fabric though, if nothing else.
I don't dare ask how much it is, or whether it would be anywhere near my size. Or where the hell I would wear it to, even. It's just cool and amazing and wierd that I happened to see it there.