/their own kind of today/
Adolescents standing on the dais wear bright sweatshirts, some with knitted vests, as well as harem pants with monochromatic chiffon shirt, all hymning twee to dreamwave if not shoegaze to lo-fi tunes with whimsical lines they have curated the list before—sometimes the bands do not mind doing Scandinavian folk for special order—and her (second) favourite person on Earth at the moment is the boyish-haired girl with xylophone. Filigrees with white to peach blossoms all over the hall, befitting the magenta-coloured flamingo installation near the doorway. Kids wearing pearly tulles to adults wearing ivory brocades surround the portico along with sous-chefs dishing up cannellonis from table to table.
It is, as well, a day of free lilies and narcissus giveaways, planted in a mini garden with prairies and white bicycles also sunflowers, then young girls with shimmering eyes pick a few—or sometimes the dudes who do for their spouse. White birds cages on few corners, next to collages of polaroid pictures and personal hand sketches of two humans hardly able to survive their bliss at the moment: some were still life glances of incomplete pictures, some others were slices of two humans’ daily wander in a town wearing blouse and lace coupled with sweatshirt and chino. The room was all dimmed in yellow; some former fellows with tuxedos singing favourite musics from the good old days; young ladies wearing similar pinafores hand vintage frills to the invitees; hugs and happy faces shared; everybody dances the whole night away;
but then she runs out of paint.