One by one, I tried to put together what had been broken. The transparent, thin piece of glass almost cut me, thrice, I’ve counted. But I never wanted to put down the frame. In the moment, the wind came in and swept swiftly across my face, shutting out the air by closing the window abruptly. I did not have the strength to scream from fear but only let tears find their journey on my cheek. They had said it was a a bad omen, for a photo frame to break on your wedding day, with a photo of the man you ‘love’ and yourself. I did not believe in all of that, nor did I want to but it was hard to ignore, especially cause you dread the isle walk to the man you do not love. Because it will not be about the dress I spent months fitting and cutting and dieting, nor the foul smelling flowers, badly colored, wrapped in something itchy and unpleasing. I would not be about the high heels with burn my feet as I walk to give my life away. Because the guests must not know that I did not choose any of those.

Yet I tried to put us back together, as if in reality, hoping that he would embrace me like I did the glass pieces. Though they cut and hurt me and I bled, I could not be seen to shed a tear. Even when my heart was breaking, even when my head was aching with thoughts of a man, I have loved since I was a little girl. He was all I ever loved in another, all I ever needed. But to need someone so much to a point where you become invisible should not be embraced. I had to need the one who will put that ring upon my finger tomorrow and forget about the past. The lust that rusted my heart, the broken trust that held on so long in disbelief that the live of your life can give your love to another, to many women who did not know them. Not as deeply and intensely as you do. What am I doing, I am getting married tomorrow. I should be practicing my vows, I should take out this picture from this shattered frame and remember how we used to be. Maybe some inspiration will come to life, maybe I will know that the same man I give myself to forever, is the same one I fell for.

But before all that, instead I remember, how bitter I was from my last breakup. That my husband to be was a rebound, that lasted more than what my mind and heart had contracted on. But for a fleeting moment, I thought he was the one, until his fists and feet, punched and kicked simultaneously and make up was my refuge to make up what had been. Events of last night could not be seen. Not by me when I converse with the mirror, not by them, not the world that told me repeatedly to let him go. But I was 40 years old, without children and I felt alone. The only validation I would have to being a woman, was to get married despite being loved. Because society expects that of me. And I am not brave enough to not conform, there is no where I could hide. So I will write these vows. Fabricating the memories of the past to be the future. Weaving emotions of before into that of after because I may be bruised and swollen at night, but that is the love I will settle for. And you have no right to judge me for this is my choice. These are the pieces of me…


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