A knock at the door. A second one. A third.

My nerves are getting the better of me.

I hear a voice. I know that voice... But I still don't move. The voice gets louder, then a second one can be heard. I can't focus. I can't understand what they're saying. I can't recognize syllables, can't recognize words, can't make out sentences. I just can't.

So I just sit there. Sit on that chair, in that room, in that house.

Our house. Our room. Our chair.

It's the only thing I can think about. Him. Only him. What's to come. What can happen. We could work out- we could fall apart, we could cheat, we could cuddle, we could shout, we could kiss, we could hit, or we could hug. Anything could happen.

And that's the scary thing. We're young- anything could happen. A first heartbreak, or a first child. Anything.

So I just sit there. On one of the million of chairs. In one of the million of rooms. In on of the million of houses. I'm one of those millions of girls, millions have gone through this before me. So why am I any different?

Because I'm his. His and only his. Because he loves me and I love him back. That's why. And that thought- it's reassuring.

And with everything good, comes something bad.

My mum told me that when I was still young. To never forget that when something bad happens, there's gonna be something good. So it must be the contrary as well, right?

So the engagement- something good. The wedding- something good. Where's the bad?

But must there be anything bad?

Because the only bad thing on this day is the thought that he doesn't love me, and that he won't say 'I do.'

But I know he will. He loves me.

And I continue to sit there, on this lonely chair, in this lonely room, in this lonely house.

The voices have stopped.

But I'm still staring in that mirror. That full-length mirror.

My tied red locks, a few of them falling from the neat-tied bun at the back of my head. The little amount of make up on my cheeks and lips, around my eyes and eyelashes. The dress. The sparkly waves in an ocean of white, white waterfalls cascading down to the floor. Strapless, not too open either- perfect. The ring on my finger, that silver band, coated with little sapphires. My favorite gem. He knows me, doesn't he?

I stare at my reflection, at myself, at the bouquet of red and white roses in my lap. Laying there, waiting to be picked up.

But I just can't seem to pick myself up.

At some moment I guess I stop staring at myself and move my gaze to the window.

There are birds outside. Birds flying freely, without a care, without being afraid. So why am I so afraid?

I shouldn't be. But then again, I don't think I'm afraid. I think it's more like... Anxious.

It's a beautiful spring day, and I sit there on that wooden chair, in that wooden-coated room, in that wood-made house. And I can only think about him.

All thoughts go to him. Like some magnet. It's only him. It will always be him.

So I gather up all my courage. I pick up the bouquet. I stand up. Nothing unusual there. I pay a last glance at the full-length mirror. I take a last shuddering breath. I glance one last time at that old chair. A last glance at that old room, in that old house.

I open the door- I take a deep breath. It shouldn't be so hard. Why is it so hard?

I make my way downstairs. I make sure to look at all those pictures on the walls. Those new pictures on those old walls. Those pictures of us on our walls.

I stand on the last stair. I look around.

Old, wooden walls. Old. Very old. Filled with memories. Happy memories. Sad memories.

I conduct my emerald stare to the front door. From where everything started.

From where I first stepped out, making my way to this magical world I'm part of. Where he stood, wondering if he should knock. Where he picked me up to go on one of our many dates. Where he dropped me after he proposed.

And now here I am. Wondering if I should turn the doorknob. Wondering what awaits outside.

Love awaits. Love is outside.

So I turn that doorknob. So I step out on the front porch. And I stop myself from glancing back- it's over now. There's only going forward.

There's my father waiting. Waiting by the car. He closes the door after I get in, and we drive off. Off to him. Only him.

And as I stand in front of the church doors, already congratulated by my bridesmaids and my mother.

I take my father's hand.

A last deep breath. A last bad memory. A last glance back. A last awful though. And the doors open.

Those old, heavy, wooden doors.

I step out. Step onto the church floor. I can feel my heels clatter on the stone floor. That monotone clatter.

I find his gaze easily. His hazel brown eyes. His loving eyes.

And then everything's ok. Everything's in order. Because I know he loves me. And as the wedding goes on, and the vows are made, I realize that all that anxiety wasn't worth it. Because only he is worth it. He'll always be worth it.

And I look around, because it's all over now, and there's no going back.

I notice how those old, wooden seats stay in that old, stone room, in that old, stone church. And I realize one thing- that everything gets old. And that one day, I'll be old too. When I've lived my life, and it's (almost) all over, I'll still be with him. Because I love him, and he loves me back. Because one day we'll grow old, and well still love each other, and well sit on our old couch, watching our grandchildren run around. Because time passes. And everything grows old.