Wake me up when September Ends

You Motherfucker. I've been preparing for the awful day that would have been (still will be) our first wedding anniversary; feeling sick about its approach. what if i see a bride and her fleet walking out of a salon; all sweat pants and pretty hair. A bride and groom sparkling as they have their photos taken, stopping traffic and oblivious to everyone but each other? How am i going to block out flashes of that day and what will i do in place of spending it with you, rereading wedding cards and watching that stupid video we said we'd watch only on our anniversaries?

yeah. i know that'll be a rough day. i'm ready for it.

but i wasn't ready for the flood that came today, driving home from work, when i realized it was this day last year that i picked up my wedding dress.

drove to my flamboyant tailor on rush street, feeling like i almost belonged in the gold coast. the only time i ever had a facial, manicure, and new salon hair all at the same time. walking in to his exclusive upstairs loft to try on the dress one last time before taking it home. stepping out of the dressing room in my gown that he'd unraveled and restitched to fit me like silk skin, and his gasp. "marvelous." the gucci woman who slid in, wearing giant sunglasses and long nails, dripping with perfection who stopped her cell phone call to stare at me, declaring me "vintage glam"

i came home and unzipped the bag where my dress is carefully wrapped. it's still the same, one year later. timeless. i'd like to set it on fire. i'd like you to feel how much you've undone. i'd like to rewind all of this and not have wasted all those precious feelings on someone who didn't know how special they were.