She was to wear lace, and he thin stripes. They dreamed of this day. They loved and lived for each other. Everything was in its place. The flowers were arranged. The final alterations stitched. The courses were being prepared. They thought they were ready to love forever.
She asked him if he loved her; if he was sure of this commitment. He responded with a deeply inhaled breath and a sigh of exhaustion. He paused briefly to compose his thoughts. She detected his fears and gave him no room to respond, a bad habit of hers. Blind reassurances tumble from her mouth; her confidence was also fleeting. She did everything she could to stop him from walking out the door. Her frustration and overreaction to his haste and apathetic response was unbearable.
She tried to convince him that the vows and promises that she made were true. That the claims of the previous days had been out of frustration and weren’t worth losing him over. She could change. She could be happy to see him when he shows his face, and happy to hear his voice when he calls.
She thought she had him assured that she wanted to spend her living days with him. But even on their day of commitment he couldn’t be with her. He understood the true nature of the statements they had written, and he feared her honesty and her love. He realized that his strength wasn’t enough to sustain the life she needed. So he fled and disappeared from the day and joint life they would have shared.
She wore lace. She had always dreamed of wearing lace. He loved her in lace. They had planned an old fashioned way of things. She wore lace to compliment his sharp and dapper suit stripes. But by this time on the day of her wedding, her lace was stained with salty tears and the crimson red of her life that was taken from her by his neglect and his choice not to return to her, the one he loved.