They walked the city streets, and under lights of Christmas, illumed in the onset of early eve, the cold and dampness of still grey day seemed less morose. There was levity in the light, in the reds and greens and golden yellows over building faces, rooftops, and spires. They walked slowly, window-shopping on their way; looking with admiration to some of the sights and toward others, confused assessments to styles and reasons they could not see.
Through clouds of breath that rose, held, then dissipated outward, upward, and also into nothing—last vestige a touch of warmth in sky and air’s surrounding, holding grey—they gazed on a window of modern style. Annie praised. James pondered. It was intricate, ornate, made with fine and delicate details: a dress for one wishing to be seen, sought’s attracting of a seeker. Viewing, he felt viscerally the effect of its intention to impose, or impart if by subtler suggestion—and he thought how she might appear within its adornment.
“What do you think?” Annie asked.
“It’s certainly your color,” James replied, still gazing on the gown “But I don’t know if it’s your style.”
He remained undecided; the common questioner of fashion that likewise accepted his absence or care for any that could be called or classified one’s own.
“Why not?”
“It’s trying too hard. Beauty doesn’t need to scream to be seen. It’s always noticed when source is the decorated, not the decoration. I like you simpler. Not plain, simpler—more classic—not having to try and force into greater expression what you know’s already there. You already have it. You don’t need to overdo it. Sometimes it becomes a distraction from the very thing it tries to accent and draw attention.”
Annie listened, musing between words and attention still to gown.
James allowed her gaze, completion of quiet thought, then followed telling true, “You’re seen. You’re beautiful. You don’t need a gown like that for either. You are striking already wearing only whites.”
Cloud of breath and deep and emptying exhalation gave warmth to sky around. Annie wrapped her arms to his, holding it tight and close to pea coat covered chest as she smiled leaning head upon his shoulder as they gazed a while longer on the gown.
“I still think it’s wonderful,” Annie told, even if he disagreed.
Curiousity and attention for novelty met, they returned to slow walk and window shopping in the muting and dampness of the grey sky made black and the million lights through morosity that, even in world and sky depression, gifted aura of a dream.