Weddings. I can’t fathom sitting here and watching people rehearse for tomorrow. The big day, they said. I see the bride and her maid of honor checking for any final touches while two of my friends are by the piano practicing the song that they will be singing for the bride when she walks down the aisle, flower in hand, forever soon to be. I got up from my chair and walked out of the little chapel atop a nursery school. I climbed down the stairs letting my shoes brush along the edges of the red carpet that they have set up as images in my mind started to form sad what-ifs.
What if I could never marry. I could never find a man who’ll love me for the way I am. No one’s going to prop on one knee and ask me for my hand in marriage.
Or what if I do have a wedding and days before the big day my groom-to-be would cheat on me with one of my bridesmaids or worse, my maid of honor. What if I get cold feet at the last minute and I run away, the skirt of my white dress bundled up in my hands.
What if I do get married and ended up miserable, regretting the commitment that I have made. What if we’ll just fight every night yelling at eachother saying that we are better off on our own.
What if I can’t bear a child and he’d hate me for it. What if he can’t give me a child and I can’t accept it.
What if love is not as strong as we think it’d be. What if, just what if, love is just a dream? Would we still fight for it?