The first time I remember ever wearing the red dress was midsummer night 2004. I had just left my husband and was alone on vacation for the first time in more than a decade. I went with a friend to celebrate with her singing friends on a small island outside Gothenburg, Sweden. I remember the amazing old wooden house, once the home of smugglers. I remember the songs we sang. The serenade to my honour, blushing in that red dress. The long table. The strawberries. The laughter. The fear, and then the strong sense of a new beginning.

2005; I'm sitting on the balcony of a friend, drinking red wine, laughing, talking, wearing that dress with my favourite black jacket to it. There were flies in my wine that night. I sent a message about the flies to someone I was waiting for. Someone who made me laugh like noone else. He was supposed to come to see me later that summer. He never came.

2006; I was wearing it as you picked me up on the airport. I remember the shocking heat. Your smiles and sideways glances in the car. The wind in my hair. Some hours later the dress came off, landing on the floor of that hotel room I never slept in. We were living numbered days and could not waste a second of it sleeping alone. Then summer moved on into a dark lonely autumn and my bleeding heart never really returned, only the dress, which even was delayed too as my suitcase got lost on my way home.

2007: I'm walking down to the city after a photo shoot using a beautiful friend as my model. The camera is around my neck. It's a hot evening in June. I cross a green field and kick my shoes off. Walking bare feet for the first time is such a thrill. The world is slowly opening up to me again. As I turn a corner I meet someone from my past I admire and always wanted to know better, and his slow chase begins. One year later I wake up next to him, but there is no victory, only a big "now what?" with no good answers and the dress on the floor is white. White with stains from the evening before. A cold November night as I say good bye for the last time I'm wearing a black dress. Lust without love is not for me. It's nothing but a dead end street. I never turn back.

2008; I put my red dress in a box together with so much of my past. I'm moving away and I am moving on. The red dress feels old and worn out. The red has lost its sparkling shine a long time ago. A faded memory of song, of heat and happy days long gone. I don't believe in their return and I doubt I will ever wear it again, but have no heart to throw it away.

2009: An accident with bleach has altered the old red dress into pink. I laugh as I put it on. I never wear pink. Never ever. I'm surprised how well it works with my dark hair and my tanned skin. It's old and brand new at the same time. I wear it over and over this summer. And surely I will wear it again as you'll pick me up on the airport. I will be sweating in the heat. You will smile at me in your special way, sideways, holding my hand as you are driving. The dress will come off again, but our days are no longer numbered. Or maybe they are, always will have to be, but we don't care to know the number anymore and we don't keep count. This time we'll leave together.