A death in the wish list.

This was the dress.

This Frankie a-line with prim epaulet sleeves and mod silhouette held the top spot on my wish list from late August up until this evening when Anthropologie's website informed me only three remained, none of which were within a size of my size. All that waiting, all the fantasizing about pairing it with a simple ballet flat or with red opaque tights and black round-toed platform heels (yes, Rachel Bilson did it first), all the times I checked to make sure it was still there nestled in the middle of the "little black dress" section -- it was all for naught.

When I saw it had been marked down from a $150-out-of-my-price-range dress to a just-within-reach dress two weeks ago, I naively thought the same good fashion fortune that allowed me to find my ivory knit minidress would repeat itself. I thought for sure I had time. I thought for sure the depth of the love I felt for this dress meant that it, too, loved me and wouldn't leave me. Couldn't leave me.

And yet, here we are.

Who knows, we still might be together one day. When Vivian slipped away from Edward, we all thought it was over. We all knew it was a preposterous notion, a businessman and a hooker making it work. But what we missed, what we weren't thinking about, was their connection. He loved her, she loved him, and that love transcended practicality and vitiated what was and wasn't socially acceptable. In the end, he realized that following his heart - something he had spent his entire life avoiding - was the key to happiness. Unlike I did, he didn't wait until it was too late. He went after her.

A day, a year, or a decade from now, when I'm flipping through the racks at Annie Creamcheese in Georgetown or Tahir Boutique in the East Village, perhaps my steadfast affection for this Frankie a-line will earn me a second chance.

And then, as I should have two weeks ago, I can rescue it right back.