“we are so much less without each other.” -leo buscaglia

~

It’s like a wisp of sun-crest cloud, the way the light pools and works its way into the folds of her dress, the sparkle of delicate pearls at the nape of her neck as careful and precious as a set of tiny newborn teeth.

One thing: I forget my vows. My breath is catching, forced tight into my throat by the clump of tears formed unwillingly, unconsciously. I try to keep them at bay but then, I can’t close my eyes.

Because there she is. My fingertips tremble and I ache to run toward her, sweep her off her feet in the pale white silk cloaked across damp skin; she is glowing, radiant, gorgeous, and she’s walking to me.

This is what I’ve waited for.

This is why I do it, everything.

This is why I’m here: not just here, in this stained glass church packed with everyone we love, but here – in this world, in the life.

I watch a hand float softly, quickly, across her belly. It’s a small secret between us, a gesture of an unbelievable miracle only we know about. I catch the look, the knowing glance, smile forming with hers, and then quickly forget. She is the only thing that matters in this moment. She’s locked eyes with me, the sun tangled in her curls, the tears tracking across her cheeks. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life.

And she’s walking to me. Me, a man in a pressed and starched tux (it is too hot and too tight and I miss rolling up my sleeves) that we picked out on a Saturday; a man who’s fiercely biting the insides of his cheeks to keep the tears back.

Oh, what the hell. They come anyway. She reaches me. There is an audible hush.

Oh god. Pam. I take her trembling fingers in mine, knitting our hands together, and it’s like we match.

We always have.

Everything else has slid away. We are the only two people in the room.

“You’re beautiful,” I whisper, rubbing my thumb against the back of her hand. It doesn’t even come close to what she is but then again, words themselves have never been enough for us. She bites her lip to quell fresh tears, the smile breaking her face as we turn to the preacher.

He begins to talk, reciting rehearsed official documents. I try to listen. I should be listening. I can’t listen. I can’t breathe, because she’s looking at me in a way that makes me want to break from so much love. He keeps talking as we hold hands tighter, tracing shapes against each other’s palms. It’s a reassurance: i’m here, i’m here, I love you.

Like we need it. And then I realize; I’ve forgotten my words. Everything I’ve written out so meticulously, memorized in hushed breath on early Sunday mornings – I can’t remember one sentence. The pastor is looking at me kindly, waiting. I turn to Pam and I see it all there, etched onto her face, and it’s like she has got it all memorized.

I don’t need freaking vows.

I never needed to look further than her smile. I don’t remember what comes tumbling out of my mouth, forced between deep breath and choking tears but it’s real, true, exactly what I’ve always known.

All I can remember is Pam, clutching my fingers, coaxing me along, my comfort through everything. She is the only thing I remember, the only thing I want to remember.

We slide rings onto fingers, words are melded around our ears. We make promises. We stand close. We can’t stop smiling.

Michael throws a fistful of rice at us just as we say I do.

And then I lift her up, water-silk and secret baby and all, and I kiss my bride. She laughs against my lips, her tears leaving little wet kisses across my cheek. There are hundreds of people crowding around us but hers is the only face I see.

“I love you,” she whispers.

Her new diamond imprints on my skin.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” I chuckle, into her ear.

And that’s when she throws her bouquet. It is too early but then, we’ve never been like anyone else. And without those flowers, she can hold my hand as we walk, take first steps, husband and wife.

Everything sparkles. It’s just another day with her, and it’s perfect.