Two days is the amount of time that I spent lying face down in a completely dark guest bedroom in my childhood home.
Just to be clear, I would have spent the two days laying face down on the (surprisingly still really comfortable) extra-long twin bed in the room where I grew up. The thing is, I couldn’t. My wedding dress was hanging from my wrought-iron canopy bedframe and train of the dress spilled over onto my entire bed. Lush, snowflake-white silk faille cascaded from ceiling-to-floor — and the massive train, outstretched, seemed to pour on and on for miles. I couldn’t bring myself to move the thing.
No, literally. I couldn’t move it. It weighed, like, 20 pounds and the garment bag towered over me*.
*That accompanied by the fact that the mere idea of looking at it made me physically ill.
I had just…
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