Wedding Day I never wanted to leave you. You held me so close I could feel your heartbeat through my breast. Your hand held me at the centre of my back so hard it hurt, it felt like I should break in two, but then that might just have been what it felt like to be leaving you. What hurt more was the fact that you would not look in my eyes. My brown sought your grey, but you addressed my hairline when you bade me farewell. At least you did not see my tears. I turned away from you to board the train, and although I searched for you through the window, you must have left already. Sometimes watching the train slowly pull away, building momentum to disappear out of sight, is worse than suffering the quick pain of pulling a plaster. The next time I saw you was at the wedding. You stood at the altar, so handsome in your suit of grey. I know I looked beautiful in white. Everyone told me so. I looked in your eyes and felt a surge of emotion as our gazes locked, before quickly looking away. The vicar cleared his throat, and began the sermon. I don't know whether the service lasted three minutes or three hours, but it was with a stomach of knots that I finally looked at my groom and said ‘I do’. ‘You may now kiss the bride,’ the vicar beamed cluelessly. And my husband leaned forward to kiss me on the lips, whilst you watched in pain, the dutiful best man.