I attend a wedding
I attend a wedding. I’m there as a favour to someone I hardly know. The ceremony is in Portuguese, but I still manage to shed tears on cue.
I prepare myself during the day for who I’m going to be that night. This rendition of myself makes a habit of doing things for all the wrong reasons, which, on occasion, out of sheer coincidence, happens to resemble noble acts. Without hesitation, he leaps up and takes credit. He would smirk at me from across the room. It’s the lowest form of out-of-body experience.
At the bar, I silently flip though the Rolodex of past regrets.
I’ve known early mornings when I would crawl along the living room floor, throw open the shutters, trying to catch a glimpse of the moment before it falls.