I saw you stand at the altar, in that wispy white dress, and I couldn't help but think:

I was the luckiest man in the universe.

A hundred and twenty six pairs of eyes, all gleamed at you in their envious, vivacious stares, and yet only one among those many could call you theirs: me.

The steps towards you came effortlessly now, unlike all the times I played this scenario out in my mind: no hesitation, no cold feet, no second thoughts, just the image of you in my mind, your beautiful visage keeping all of my qualms at bay.

I will admit, even putting my tux on this morning, I couldn't help but wonder whether all this was right, whether I'd be forcing my love onto you by taking things this quickly.

But then there you were, with your hazel eyes and cheeky smile, and you reminded me of all those little things that had made me fall for you from so far away:

The way you'd hum showtunes while doing the dishes. You putting your left shoe on before your right, going so far as to take it off if it was the right one first.  The way you sang in your sleep, sometimes even singing whole verses before coming to. The way you'd hold back a smile in the midst of an argument, yet let the corner of your mouth twitch to show that you had forgiven. How you'd let the waterworks flow while watching your soaps, but deny crying every single time. The way your eyes glinted when you shared a hearty laugh with your fiance. The way you'd hug his arm on walks, when other couples were content with holding hands. The way you'd blush when you kissed him, like every time was the first.

The polaroids that adorned several walls of my house - our house, soon -  proved an unspeaking testament to my love, of how I deserved you more than anyone else. Shots of you in every conceivable pose - sitting amidst a pile of letters, standing over a heap of laundry, mouth agape as you try to stifle a yawn, shirt over your arms while you changed, your caramel skin bared as you showered, everything - kept me focused, kept me determined .

I am doing this.

My pace quickened, two steps at time. Four. Eight. Running straight towards you, the pistol slapping against my thigh with every step.

In and out.

One quick dash, one little tackle, and I'll have swept you off your feet and carried out.


In and out.


  1. Every single time I read this,I just love it more and more. Brilliant! <3


RANDOMOSITY (is that a word?)