Weddings and fireworks have nothing to do with each other; wait, did I say nothing? Both fade to white–the big emotional culmination of plans and hopes and the climax of commitment–but they fade to white, to pictures and memories but not so much rill. After that, the marriage depends on what you put into it–every day, like the compost.
Weddings and fireworks: They are the same actually. Weddings are emotional fireworks, for the reasons stated above. In the aftermath, you try to build some sort of life. The letdown, if there is one, reflects your particular brand of immaturity and ill preparation. There is nothing wrong with white. It’s what we try to fill it in with that’s wrong. What if we let it be beyond the pale–to just shimmer there, not as memory, but to be involved in the explosion that is love, that is the apex of that wedding: That could be the life–or points along it–like fireworks for weddings, suspended and found, something to be lived, not frozen in the “what was” or even the what-could-have-been department.