No day. No time. No pastor from my hometown. No platinum rings. No veil covering my red lips. No rose in your suit pocket.
Just a bridesmaid exhausted between work trips who threw her dress on after landing back in NYC and then boarded a red eye flight to DC, fixing her hair and makeup in the car on the way to wedding. Just a groomsman anxious about his little sister getting married that wanted to still make the Penguins game after the reception. Her college best friend’s brother, his sister’s college best friend, his coat around her freezing bare arms as they walked back to the limo for the wedding party. Rumors already starting as they sat at the same table at the reception and she kept putting her hand on his knee and he kept putting his arm around him. Their high pitched laughter could be heard above the band. It was the kind of laughter that made you want to be in that conversation, have that feeling of pure ecstasy, the first spark of love.
Just jelly and rhinestone flats bought in a designer shop in Miami last time she lived there. Just the black dress dress shoes he last wore to his grandfather’s funeral. Just confetti from a hundred loud on lookers as the bride and groom made their way through the tunnel of loved ones. Just one Instagram shot.
One photo, one caption, that spurred an entire lifetime between them. Black and white nearly strangers’ shoes pointing towards each other, bright white confetti the only thing between them.
I wish confetti was the only thing between us now.