the suicide project

fourteen

I started picturing my wedding day with Ivy.

I imagine her throughout the past seven months of planning have everything lead up to this day. I imagine waking up by her side on the bed, then her freaking out about how it's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding. She would then throw a pillow at me or something thinking it was my kryptonite.

Little would she know that she was my kryptonite the whole time.

I imagine after I left the bedroom one of my college friends would freak out ranting on how I wasn't even close to ready. In which I would go through a Disney moment of being turned from a slob to classy. My hair would be cleaned up, but just slightly messy as how Ivy likes it, a black and white tuxedo with a floral white hanker chief on the side pocket.

The music in the alter would start playing. It was the song from Rio that Taio Cruz sang. The doors in the church would then open revealing a nice and done up Ivy. Her hair pulled back into an elegant bun with a bunch of white roses and clips, covered by a sheer see through veil. Her pearl white dress would drag on while she walks. The corset top with lace in the back would push up her chest making her body more beautiful than it already is, with the Cinderella puff at the bottom. 

I know she would just look timeless, like she hasn't even aged a bit since the first day I met her.

She would look up and smile at me.

And I would smile back.