i never came to you in white
Two weeks and a little ago I became your wife. You texted me a little before three. “Am at church. Can’t wait.” Neither could I. Up until three o’clock the day was a mishmash of moods. We woke up together and heard the rain immediately. I turned sour and you did your best to cheer me up. We parted, but kept track of each other’s every move by texting. The rain continued pouring.
As I walked around in my childhood home drinking instant coffee, I began smiling. The rain was still pouring. I showered, found my dress, the shoes. My aunt finished off the bouquet your mother had made for me the previous day and I did my make-up and got dressed. Just days before our wedding I had regretted choosing not to wear white, but as I looked in the mirror I realised that I would have looked lovely in white, no doubt, but that I did the right thing in choosing to wear colour. Everywhere I walked – to the car, to the church – someone was holding an umbrella above my head.
My dad and I stood in the church waiting for the doors to open. I was anxious – anxious to see you, to kiss you, to take your hand. The church was filled. The guests smiled. My dad walked me down the aisle and as we said our hellos, you whispered “you look lovely” to me.
We said “I do”, there was a personal speech by the priest, songs we had chosen, kisses we had waited for. I thought I would cry through the whole thing, but despite wet eyes more than once, I think I did remarkably well.
It rained when we walked out of the church as husband and wife. It didn’t matter. Guarded by an umbrella, we let friends throw rice on us as is tradition – we even let them do it twice.
The evening is a mix of memories and is nowhere near complete yet. Memories keep coming to me – from pictures, from friends, from out of the blue. I remember drinking champagne, I remember a lot of toasts, I remember sitting next to you. I remember my dad speaking and your dad and you.
I remember you speaking. No one has ever said so many nice and loving words about me. No one has ever known me better and has ever made me sound like a sweeter person than you did that very night when you spoke to your new bride. I laughed when you talked about me and my addiction to people.com. I nodded and agreed when you talked of Lausanne as the city of love. I felt loved when you talked about loving the sound of me typing away at the keyboard and my afternoon dancing on the living room floor to Gnarls Barkley. Towards the end all I wanted was to kiss you and whisper how much I love you, how much I want you, how much you are mine. I listened to every word you said, but still I find myself lacking memories of certain passages and am ever grateful for the other night when you whispered the beginning of the speech to me as we lay in bed ready to sleep. I am still waiting for an occasion to ask for the next part.
Five minutes before midnight we danced our first dance as husband and wife. The rain stopped. We kissed and people cheered. Five hours later we went to bed exhausted and tired. The warmth from your body seemed different. That is the way it is. Things feel different though in reality not much in our everyday life has changed. You are still you and I am still me, but we are husband and wife. Husband and wife – I like the sound of it. A lot.
Much, much love (yesterday, today, tomorrow, forever)