The Bride.

This was when the hopeless romantic in me had an out-of-body experience and wrote a poem.

The Bride

A pearly dress flows to the ground, and in the
mirror I see a different me. Stray strands of hair
flow beside my pale, anxious skin, and I shield my
nervous eyes with a sheet of see-through satin, tickling
my arms as it settles. I grab a meticulously matched
bouquet of roses; a simple, pure white. I hold it to
my side as I take deep breaths in an imagined silence.
I bat my eyes and watch my eyeshadow shimmer,
trying to hold back rivers of happiness and joy.
“It’s time” I hear and I look towards the door; I slowly
breathe out and walk toward what has only been my dream.
Now all eyes are on me but I smile so wide,
because all I can see is him smiling back.