Although I am beginning this piece now, I am aware that all dressed up as I am, I would need to stop abruptly when I get a call, and so I must type quickly. The sentences can stay broken. I will fix them later. But it is crucial to get it into writing that weddings often make you think of love and that this does not help you, and neither does this harm you, but you think of it for a few moments, and then, I would bet, for a few days. And how you think about it changes based on whether you have someone you love at the moment or not. And how you think about it changes based on how sour or sweet love has been for you. And if it has been more sour than sweet, you may be someone who avoids attending these events of flair and fervour, and if, by the distance of your association with the people getting married, you cannot avoid them, you may find yourself in the quiet comfort of a drink too many at the open bar, or the rather noisy disquiet of dancing till your feet hurt, or sometimes, both of them.
I believe I would not be able to one-up the passage above today even if I tried, so I must stop here and force myself out of this room with a smile. After all, my friends wait for me at the bar, with varying proportions of how love has treated them sweet and sour, and so, we will all drink in those capacities tonight, and then, we will all get on the floor and dance our hearts out. There is little that can go wrong with a night like this, I reckon. The plan is set; the drinks are poured. Now, we go and celebrate the two others who have found one another with only one feeling in our hearts: not everything has to be about us. Tonight, we tuck all our sorrows, big and small, behind our Sunday bests. Tonight, we surrender all ourselves to them—the lucky ones.