marry me... in a field of weeds
with a golden ring...
void of unnecessary stones...

let the sky and the earth be our witnesses...

...and the wind give me away...

let the birds be the music to which we dance...

lay me down beneath the treetops...

as we celebrate this love... untainted by ceremony

my love,
kiss my lips... and close your perfect brown eyes...

then,

my love,
my only, as we grow older,
...dust to dust... our goodbyes.

I want to be married in a graveyard.

Buried next to my closest of kin.

Speak our vows amongst the headstones.

Life should end where it begins.

You are like thunder.
Breaking the silence.
Now, rattle the window.
Awaken our children.

My sweet, you're spring showers.
A fresh summer breeze.

And I am the ocean.
Rain over me.

She crossed her legs. Cracked her knuckles, crack, crack, crack, down one hand, then the other. She was full and feverish, awaiting an answer that could change it all. She had gone 3 months with no signs. "Weight loss," they said, "stress". She had listened, busying herself with plans. futures. She was "In control" of her own life.

Now, she was at risk for becoming a statistic. the "standard". Proving someone somewhere right about the ethics of her "lost" generation. She had achieved maturity. Independence. Self-assurance. It could all be lost in a New York minute.  The answer to her worries wasn't the most frightening part; it was the phone call she knew she must face afterwards.

Ambivalence. It was the remembrance of goodbye with the fear of hello.

Crack, crack, crack. She was pulling her hair out over nothing at all. Right?