It was a neat wedding. The young guests all danced to the sounds of 'Fuck you, I won't do what they told me,' which is a song by a punkband called Rage Against the Machine, that had been very popular in their youth. And while dancing, they all smiled at eachother and were happy.
I stood watching this from the side, listening to the words, and I noticed how expensive their clothes were, how smooth their faces and how they simply looked really succesfull, like young professionals do. It made me sad, so I left the room.
Outside, in the garden, seeing them trough the damped windows, dancing and betraying the song of their youth, I wondered if they ever really had listened to it. If there had ever been any music in their lives. Or poetry. Or truth. Or angriness at all.
I felt a strong urge to break something, so I picked up a rock and wanted to throw it through the window.
But I didn't, because it would spoil the wedding and their fun. This made me feel even worse.
It's a year later now that I write this. My life is quiet, I'm feeding the baby. I still wonder if it wouldn't have been better if I had thrown that rock and stopped the shame. They probably would have thought I was drunk, which I was. But I still feel the weight of that rock in my hand.