Some sort of a wedding

That dirty memory was all in sepia. 

I can see the scratches on the film used to take in the the figures, the faces that I can barely remember, their suits and dresses that first didn't make sense, the chairs and the light that bore through the poorly decorated room. It was like a walk towards something, somewhere, someone.

I can't make it up in my mind: the names behind the faces, the smiles and the congratulatory remarks. There were some tears from some faces; trickling down somehow flushed cheeks and from smiling eyes. They were happy but I did not know why. It seemed familiar. Maybe it was from some POV movie?

Then it hit, it was a walk to an altar. Those people were smiling and looking at me. One thing I can't seem to figure it is that why was I walking towards the altar? If i was the groom to be, shouldn't I be waiting for my bride at looking how perfect and shiny she was going to be? It was an agonizing slow walk and it is all coming back in swirls and strokes. Maybe it was a new thing in weddings? Or maybe, I was walking someone down the aisle. I couldn't know for sure, I didn't look to my right side. It was a blind spot; there were just unknown faces and smiles.

If it was a sort of an avant garde wedding, it was an awkward one. It was a silent film. I didn't know if it was romantic or an intro to a mindfuck or horror story line. I never got to the ending, the spool ran out of film.