I didn’t realize I was crying until it was time to say the blinding words. ‘I do,’ I managed to choke out in a nearly unintelligible whisper… When it was his turn to speak, the words rang clear and victorious. ‘I do,’ he vowed.
It’s not the face, but the expressions on it. It’s not the voice, but what you say. It’s not how you look in that body, but the thing you do with it. You are beautiful.
Time passes. Even when it seems impossible. Even when each tick of the second hand aches like the pulse of blood behind a bruise. It passes unevenly, in strange lurches and dragging lulls, but pass it does. Even for me.
He was right – she was beating herself up about hurting his feelings. The girl was a classic martyr. She’d totally been born in the wrong century. She should have lived back when she could have gotten herself fed to some lions for a good cause.
