So some moments ago I decided to use my vivid imagination to sip the bitter wine of melancholy, pursuing the very unmasculine train of thought of imagining my wedding, such that I'm likely never to have.
In my thoughts, alongside the shadowy, mystery woman to whom I am to be betrothed, I imagined (should these decisions be left up to me) where I'd like to have it, what kind of ring I'd give her, what kind out outfits we'd wear, who I'd invite, and who would be my groomsmen and best man (spoiler: about half of my choices would actually be women).
I imagined a Victorian gothic wedding, set outside during a late fall afternoon, possibly near Halloween, with the trees ablaze in orange and red. Should it get dark before or during the ceremony, torches and candles would be lit to light the way.
Though guests could wear what they pleased (with dress code leaning towards semi-formal and formal), I imagine the non-traditional colors of black and deep red would be the theme, with classy black Victorian type suits for the groomsmen (along with classy black dresses for the groomswomen), and deep red dresses for the bridesmaids.
As diamonds are... overrated... to say the least (and the woman I'm marrying likely agreeing so, because she's marrying me after all, so we probably agree on a lot of things), I imagine giving her a ring of ruby and black saphire, set in pure silver. As to the ceremony itself, I'd imagine it'd be non-religious, and our speeches to each other rife with goth references and horror movie jokes to get a chuckle out of each other and our guests. Knowing me, I'd probably begin to tear up and cry from the overwhelming joy (much like a friend of mine did when he saw his wife to be walking down the isle), right in front of everyone, and with absolutely no shame at all.
The reception, of course, would be set inside (because the fall is cold where I'm at), likely in a venue decorated with spiderwebs, skeletons, bats, and other kitschy but fun things to denote the season and theme. In place of a cake, there'd be cupcakes for all, many of them red velvet. Table glasses would all be old stained glass, mismatched from person to person, but charming in their own way, while the music would be a lot of the more upbeat 80s goth type tunes (think a lot of Sisters of Mercy and 'With Sympathy' era Ministry) mixed in with some big band stuff from my two favorite Louis (Armstrong and Prima), old crooners like Frank Sinatra, and some more modern fair... you know, for everyone else (the DJ would probably have a hell of a time making it all work).
And lastly, for our honeymoon, I'd want to go far to the north, to Scandinavia, to travel about and see the lands, and eventually find our way to the glass domed igloos in Finland, where we'd go trek through the snow by day, and keep each other warm in our igloo by night as we make love and hold each other close, illuminated beneath the magical shine of the Northern Lights.
Sitting here, thinking all this, melancholy strikes me, because I know it's never going to happen. It's a wonderful thought, a wonderful dream, but hardly one I'm likely to achieve. In my life, I've never known what it's like to love and be loved in a romantic sense (sex is sex, and I've had that, but love...?), and feel as though the time for me to achieve this draws painfully short. I am alone, and beyond maybe a fling here, a dalliance there, I feel I'm likely to remain so for the rest of my days.
Oh well...
I guess I should go do some constructive things with myself instead of sipping the nightshade wine of unrealized dreams.