My stinging eyes fill again, so sick of the usual banter. Frustrated with the monotony of the tireless parade of tears. They swell and leak and swirl a sticky trail down these worn and finished cheeks. But it should be joyous. My heart cliches, my breath snags a painful twinge on the backflow of my cheers of joy. The shuddering sobs come creeping in the shadows of celebration, begging to triumph in the remnants of the cheers of the elated lovers. Why can't I settle into this happiness? Why can't I lend my congratulations without a sneer to the star led lovers pledging their hearts to one another? My begrudging fingers slink their doubt and beg to lend words of seemingly and empty and echoing and forced and limited into this rant of the heart broken and heart desperate and heart doubting. This, my only consolation, might seem to finally short of being enough. I flip through old albums of photos, chanting this one is married, this one is married, this one has a baby, this one is married, this one is dead, this one is engaged, this one is married. Then I see me. And what do I say now. This one is what. WHY DO I CRY WHEN THOSE CLOSEST TO ME GET MARRIED? My fairy tales are being murdered in front of me, my princesses are slitting their throats in the zenith of my dreams, my happy endings are crumbling stage props flaking and fading with the withering budget this world is bleeding from them. My bright colors are flickers of reflections, my solid goals are handcuffed in a shameful reality of scandles, and I am left with a sniffling nose and smeared glasses as I try to shuffle my disappointment into order. And now what. And now what. What indeed.