10AM, July 1st, 2010.

This would have been my wedding day.

In about an hour, I would have been exchanging my vows with GV8 in the park my parents were married in, on their anniversary.

Right now, I'd be putting the finishing touches on my make-up, my sister hovering over me. I'd be wearing my wedding dress, something my mother insisted she should buy for me, which would have been hanging in the upstairs closet of my old bedroom until today. My father would be sitting on the edge of their bed, buttoning up the cuffs on his shirt, my mother in their bathroom, finishing her hair, checking her lipstick, then going into her closet for a pair of shoes.

I would have spent the previous night playing cards with my mom, staying up late, just talking, talking about the future, our plans, my feelings. We would have eventually moved to the couch, the light on the endtable to the left of us the only one on and I would ask her to regale me with stories of her wedding day and the days leading up to it.

My bags would have already been packed for the mini-honeymoon to Lake Tahoe, sitting by the front door, and when I went to bed, I would have been lying awake, daydreaming of a future, of the ceremony, until I was finally calm enough to sink into sleep.

I would have ridden in the passenger seat while my father drove, my mother and sister in the back.

We would have arrived to the park, found GV8 and his family, then located the spot where my parents had stood to pledge their vows, and we would have done the same.

Lunch would have followed at some nearby restaurant, and then we would have said our goodbyes and taken the drive up to Arrowhead, holding hands over the center console.

In some alternate future, this is going on right now. In my head, there are the paths we take and the paths we don't, major ones shoved by emotional energy arching off to peter out to nonexistence when we forget them.

In some world, in forty minutes, my lips will be parting to speak the words to link myself to GV8.

And everything that has happened from today to the night I left him has been put on rewind, backtracking the movements that led us to the now we know.

The now, where I am sitting on a futon in the Nerd Control Station, a cat sleeping next to me, a porn being set up to film downstairs, two tiny blondes and a wide-face eastern European girl, a new model. Listening to my boyfriend organize, offer suggestions, guide, and make the occasional snide comment.

I don't regret my decision.

I do regret what happened. How things changed.

I feel like I could have handled it better, if I had been able to emotionally disconnect from the situation. But how well can one handle breaking up with one's fiancee? How can that end well, how can it end on friendly terms?

GV8, he was supposed to always be in my life. When we broke up in December, he said he would always be there for me, said that when I got married, he'd be helping me write the invitations, helping me plan, always someone I could call and talk to.

But people say many things after a break up, few of which remain true once emotions begin the fade, taking promises with them.

I loved him. I trusted him. I respected him.

I thought he was The One.

I knew he was The One.

But I can't always be right.

There are things I remember that will always stay with me, or at least follow me for years.

Sitting on the couch in the coffee shop, him shoving at me to get my life together after my dad had fallen apart, after I had fallen apart.

Walking around C's neighborhood, phone pressed to my ear as he looked online for apartments for me to check out, as I gave him addresses or websites on rental signs so he could check the details.

Rolling around on the center set of beds at the swing club, laughing and fucking.

Standing outside of the winery in the hills, holding each other.

Walking into his store and place of residence in the valley, seeing the graffiti over the bed, and the night that followed, the first time we had sex. The hours of sex, the soft brown sheets, the leopard print stilettos, the Sybian.

Massaging him for hours, listening to The American Dollar's A Memory Stream.

Him building that bed for me, getting that apartment for me, going out and buying that TV and hooking it up so we could just settle in bed and watch a movie because I was so burnt out.

So many touches to his back and neck, him rolling his skull into my hands, a light groan, always knowing where to touch him.

Closing my eyes so tight, breathing in, telling him I loved him.

Him bending down to tie my shoe for me, outside of his apartment, after he proposed for the umpteenth time.

Laying around on the second floor of the loft, planning our bedroom, our future.

He was... wonderful. Not all the time, the ups and downs, the changing of decisions, the quick judgements and lack of communication. But he was wonderful, and loving.

I forget the things that have happened since then. I forget the things he has said. Even with all of that, in my mind, he's still there, he's still someone I loved, someone I hold dear.

Someone who won't be in my life again, because things fell apart past the point of redemption.

I will miss him.





Twenty minutes to go. Twenty minutes and some dream of me will be a wife.

And some dream of him will be a husband.