blue bag

it's a dream i have. where nothing matters anymore and all comes to me in a horn of plenty. where i just don't care anymore and all arrives. there is a bag i saw in the window. a shop window. it was blue with a leather handle and a buckle to close in front. on display alone on a black velvet background. a desire arose in the onlooker. you want me it said. but i'm just out of reach. you cannot break the window down. you must enter through the glass door with the poster for an event at montmartre and the store hours. a bell will ring, alerting the shopkeeper that you have entered, with desire in your heart. she will smile at you and you will ask, may i hold this bag in the window. you will sling it over your shoulder and admire it in the mirror. you two make the perfect pair. and you will make your calculations in your head. whether it is worth the sacrifice. but it is maybe just the dream you're after? the vision you had of the perfect bag. no, you say. i'm done dreaming. and you pull out your wallet with the broken zipper, coins rolling across the shop floor. i'm ready to live, you'll say, and walk out the shop, looking more real than ever.