It was a lovely wedding in a neighborhood church that welcomes all possibilities of love.
I’m not usually a big fan of weddings or anniversary parties or christenings or anything that reeks of well adjusted people having picture book walk happily ever after in the sunset family lives. But, the gospel choir sang “Kisses Sweeter than Wine” and I cried, or rather, my eyes leaked.
They were two people, utterly in love.
I want to believe; in a small dark corner inside me lives the hope that true love is more than an illusion. But it’s a struggle to believe my eyes and not the little voices in my head.
I think love is sex and wet your pants with laughter silly and comfortable silences and wanting to protect the other person and wanting to do that over and over and over again.
I’ve never had that, but I’ve seen it.
I’ve never been to the moon either, but I’ve seen that too.
Time came to toss the bouquet, I excused myself and went to get a cup of tea. I didn’t want to catch it or be pushed into the crowd of singletons. I don’t want to be in love, I say, it hurts too much. I’m afraid to be in love is the truth.
There was no tea to be had and when I get back to my seat, the bouquet is sitting on the table. It had landed on my empty chair.
I’ve been in love, twice. Once with someone who loved me back. And I believe, even if I excuse myself to get tea rather than risk staying and saying I want to be loved again, the universe will find a way to get it to me. If I live in a church that believes in all possibilities of love, Love will land on my empty chair and wait patiently for me to come back. I believe this because even though I’ve never touched the man the moon, I know he’s out there.
