The Wedding Gift

Early one July

     as the water fell

He awoke

and performed the usual morning tasks:

     urinate

       fluoridate, but

no breakfast, today was different

     his bride awaited

He prepared:

     dressed himself in the finest black

       smoothed his collar

         fumbled with that diabolical knot

          (should have tied it the night before)

           ah, just right

He closed his eyes to contemplate:

     the day, pomp and pretension (all her idea)

     the night, moans under lights left on (all his)

     the morning, waking up beside her (both)

He thought of dancing and signing and laughing and crying

On the drive he glimpsed the years after:

     the sunset of her auburn hair becoming a snow covered landscape

     fine lines braving new paths where none before had dared

He arrived, urgent need in his trembling hands

     Not yet, they said

       you have to wait

         it isn't quite the time

So he paced and waited and paced

   the minister, stoic beside him


Then it was time

Through the opening doors she appeared:

     arrayed in white

       beautiful as the day he met her

Reaching out for her

     their lifetimes within his mind

       his love within his sight

         her name upon his lips

           he held her hand

as the musical chorus faded to

     a single

          steady

               note

and still

under the bluest sky

     the water fell

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About leighton

I could be considered a true Renaissance Man after having a long and storied (seriously, people actually tell stories about it) college experience and varied careers. I am also a shameless self-promoter (who did you think was writing this anyway?) who is prone to flights of fancy, an abundance of passion on any given subject, ,obsessive behavior, spontaneous storytelling (whether anyone listens or not), and making parenthetical references. I would also be thrilled if I heard someone use the word "raconteur" to describe me.
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One Response to The Wedding Gift

  1. Pingback: Faster Than I Write It Down | Stories Now Told

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