Mmhm.

Many times we mistake infatuation for love, mixed up lies with the truth and choose to believe what is impossible.

Just like how Perona held her head up high, walking forth the end of aisle, unbothered by the barely working silver painted jukebox grooving to the beat of don't stop believing in the corner of her eye. Ironically enjoyed by her despite it's distorted pace, most obvious when it sang "believe". Her heavy floral veil masked most undeeds, frail and sorrow its new found owner would seek, like the saying love is blind painted into a picture, like most words pieced into one. Within the rows of disappointment each onlooker had its heart in keep, some swayed past in hope to garner light before vows were exchanged and destinies were set. It was unclear. Perhaps the petals thrown upon were just like in fairytales, artificial. Or maybe it was due to the tear duct being congested, unknowingly but surely drown worthy. Facing the truth is like looking into the sun directly, you want to, but it hurts, but then again, the experience is long lived. Thrown back into lane 53, uncouth enough to sing a curse but a leap is fine, maybe two. Unconditionally loved and timelessly taken care of. She has more than a card to give, a hug, a cold kiss. Bam, she's up. Choking up a word or two after a series of mumbled painful preaching, so long, but meaningless words have no value for her ear. As a gift, two  were given but none were used.

Hello, and goodbye. ♥
Joyful blissful and strong.