Wishful Thinking

Me On My Wedding Day

There was excitement in the air.  Around me people moved swiftly with props, lights, and their constant chattering about my dress, make-up, and hair.  I could not care less.  Just mere hours ago, in front of our family and friends, surrounded by green cymbidium orchids and white hydrangeas, we were pronounced ‘husband and wife.’

I was now a married woman, to the man of my dreams.  I love you, I love you!  I wanted to shout.  But instead I just smiled for the camera, trying to look calm in spite of the giddiness I tried so hard to repress, lest it burst out of my chest.  I wished time would slow down so I could commit to memory every detail of this day, but I guess it did not wait for anyone—not even the bride.

Later there would be a dinner reception, but that was still hours away.  Having just finished taking the group pictures, the photographer turned his full atention on me and was now clicking away like the paparazzi.   I felt like a deer caught in the headlights.

My fingers, encased in fitted gloves, gently traced the delicate lace that was my wedding dress.  The gold band on my left hand reminded me again of what just took place earlier that morning.  My heart skipped a beat.  He’s mine!   Forever.  I will make him so happy, he’ll never regret this day.

A voice telling me to turn my head the other way woke me up from my reverie.  That was when I caught his silhouette.  I knew those features by heart.  Clad in a black, double-breasted tuxedo, leaning against the wall deep in conversation with one of his groomsmen, he looked like a hero.

My knight in shining armor.   My other half.   My husband.

Looking at him, I was filled with certainty.  Of my destiny and the rest of my life.

With him.

This week's RemembeRed prompt: Some say a photograph steals the soul.  This week, show us yours: take us into the moment that photograph was taken.  Show us who you were then and what the photograph means–in 300 words.

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