Saturday, April 16, 2011

Six years

Six years ago today, I went for a walk on the beach in the morning with my best friend
We saw dolphins and a perfect blue and pink sunrise. A little girl embarked on an adventure.

And then I collected all my best friends and escorted them them to hair and makeup and because my parents were not sure they were sufficiently pretty to stand on an altar and so they sat, coiffed.

I donned a designer white dress, with a perfect pink bow and was told it seemed I'd gained weight since last my mother saw me in it. My best friend held me up as her comments cut me knee first. And our makeup artist planned her report to the other Pasadeneans.

And enroute, I started to panic and my man of honor and my big sister said, let's go around the block to the fellow behind the wheel of the massive black chariot, one last time. I inhaled and proceeded. I thought I was afraid of the day's performance.

I listened for a trumpet, I walked down an aisle, I wanted so much for forever. I promised to give endlessly, to love completely, and knew though I would receive only some of what I could give, was satisfied with being his rock. I would help him grow, and nurture myself too. Together we would blossom.

And the sunset on a 250 person dinner on the beach, and all I wanted to do was adventure with my new life's partner and best friend. And all I wanted was to make forever a journey in tandem.

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