Opening the door to my closeted self, I was hit with a frigid blast of choice. Aligned on color coded hangers each body stood only inches apart. I slid them from side to side, options dragging along the wooden pole, scratching my flow like a spinning record manipulated for the show. I looked each one over deciding my day before I stepped into it.
Some too tight, others loose, I searched back and forth debating of which I would choose. Carefully drawing the picture in my head of the appearance of each, eliminating one by one until the decision was reached.
Sliding into my newly chosen skin, I layered on the final embellishments to my plume and exited into the world. As I hit the front stoop, a sudden sense of something forgotten. Patting down each pocket of truth, I stood vapid.
“What did I forget?” I interrogated myself trying to backtrack all my steps. As a windy chill hit my barren skin the discovery finally hit. The day had its own measure and I had neglected in my stories choice to consider it.
inspired by the prompt ‘frigid’ at typetrigger.com and a theory of closets from a good friend