Our wedding was a few years ago, even though I said I didn’t want a formal celebration, that I only cared about things like dinner after ten at night and holidays outdoors, but he won, and we were married in a church by a priest.
I felt like a giant, not having been to church since I was small.
Pinned to a cross above the altar, dripping blood and haloed, a plaster cast Christ made me wonder if it is fair to him being remembered sacrificed.
What a day, just like a flash of black cameras and white lights, a beautiful memory.
The fashion designer soul in me was happy, the scrapbooker, the dancer.
I think I was afraid he would find out once and for all I cannot hold on to all of the goodness in the world as others do, floating in ecstasy-
how half the time I’d disappear if they started to fall when I might have kept my dress pristine, thrown back champagne.
It felt for sure he’d see he may never have any fun with me, this atrocious ghost, not the way he could have.. the way it should be, in a picture perfect life.