The Wedding

Oh the white and black and red splendor that bursts forth and drips from every crevice in the church. From the bright red roses and bowties to the tender white fabric of her dress, every thing about the day is perfect. Music begins to play softly announcing her arrival like a princess and she steps up to large wooden doors behind which she hears the sound of people rising from their seats just to get a look at her. Her best friends are already waiting for her down the isle in their ruby red dresses and her future husband stands - no doubt nervous - by his best man. She glances over at her father who gives her a teary-eyed smile and she returns it with childish fervor as if to assure him she'll always be his baby girl.

The doors open and she steps out to meet the gazes of over two hundred people with cameras and wide, gawking eyes and lips. Her own mouth curls up into a smile and she self-consciously moves a perfectly manicured hand up to tuck a brown curl up behind her ear.

There he is. In a black tailcoat with a red bowtie and blinding smile he's her everything. Her love, her truth, her future.

Such an emotional man; already she can see tears reflecting at the corners of his endless blue eyes. She can't blame him, even she - a normally steely woman - can feel the strain of happiness about to overflow.

She shifts the bouquet in her hand (roses - seven of them - one for each year she's known him) to hold out to her best friend and maid of honor and they exchange careful smiles.

The ceremony is beautiful - not a dry eye by the end of it - and everything she ever dreamt of as a child. From her dress to the brand new red converse on her feet to her smiling new husband - her everything - it's perfect.

He's perfect.