one time, she asked me,
“what kind of wedding do you want?”

it was the kind of answer we’d practiced fastidiously,
formulated carefully during midnight marathons of our favorite tlc shows.

we knew the designers we knew the flavor of the cake we knew the material of the dress we knew the guest list we knew the song we’d use for our first dances we knew what was tacky and what was classy we knew we wanted it all and we knew we would never have it but we liked to play pretend.

one time, she asked me,
“what kind of wedding do you want?”

i said,
“i want church bells tolling and i want doves when we kiss and i want my dress all lace and not strapless because i want to dance until i can’t feel my legs i want to drink champagne and i want to watch everyone cry and i want the bridesmaids dressed the color of a summer twilight sky and i want you i want you i want you.”

i said,
“i would settle for a courthouse i would settle for jeans and your favorite ripped tee shirt and your beat-up chuck taylors i would settle for the radio in your bedroom turned all the way up i would settle for slow dancing barefoot on the hardwood floor i would settle for all of this because it would never be settling with you, baby.”

i said,
“we could dress the bridesmaids in yellow like you want to, i would let you wear the prettier dress, we could dance to your favorite song even though i think it’s trite, we could get married in your mama’s church, i would love you in front of god and everyone if they would let us.”

i said,
“i want it all and they’ll never give it to me. i want to say your name louder than a whisper. i want my heart to beat loudly in my chest without trembling. i want to be strong. i want to kiss you in public. i want my hands to stop shaking when i touch you. i want to stop needing you quietly. i want to love you with the volume turned all the way up.”