Summer Clothes

I'm an unabashed magazine reader and it usually results in tachycardia. My heart beats furiously, anxious to be united with the imagery: mermaids in their summer clothes, wine lips, garlands of peonies in infinite model manes, splendor and grass and striped umbrellas on the beaches of Marseilles. When I cycle through these portraits--immediate and gorgeous--I lust to enter the scene of the crime, to dip my toes into the emerald waters of the virtual beach. I'm perpetually inspired and energized, fizzy after drinking in the carbonated imagery of W, Elle, Bazaar, Vogue. I willingly suffer through the beauty that these magazines provide, just a hopeless supplicant at the altar of Fashion. I went quiet at the sight of this season's Lanvin rose-infused gown. Couldn't that be me in super-stellar dripping blooms with cascading hair and a face full of mystery? Couldn't it? My imagination runs like a race horse around a mud track. I want the photo, the glitz, the dress, the look, the locale, the dream, the mystique, the fantasy, the budget, the beauty, the life. Can I have it, the magical sartorial tutto? I don't know but I'll continue to bow my head in prayer, waiting for Lanvin to carry me to heaven or the golden wheat fields of Elle's location director.