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Sixième anniversaire de mariage

As we stood at the top of a pyramid with two middle-aged men hovering over us—the one wearing cutoff shorts and brandishing a bonesaw; the other wearing black shirt with priest’s collar and sprinkling lime, sand, and water over our hands—I was struck dumb. As I remember, I meant to say something about how love changes with time, and that I wanted to spend as much time as possible discovering how it changes with no one else. But all I could do was croak, “I…, I….” It felt like years. When I did finally say something, it was monosyllabic: “You… know what… I mean.” As stupid as I felt then—as silly as I feel now for having choked as I did—what I said was—is—true. It was one of the most important reasons my hand was at that very moment being cemented to hers. She knows what I mean, you know? Another reason: She was the only woman who ever made me speechless.

Also: Kiss my ass, unity candles!



Shucks. :)