People are getting engaged now. People are getting married.
People my age, people I know.
People I went to kindergarten with.
People I shared animal crackers with during Sunday School.
And now they’re sharing pictures of their rings and from their weddings;
sharing memories and moments and songs and drinks and hugs and kisses and dances in perfect white dresses.
Some of them elegant, some embellished, some breezy and bohemian.
I’m in a grey t-shirt dress and red knock off Keds–I don’t have a ring on my hand, but a stack of bracelets collecting on my wrist from friends who have travelled the world and brought a few pieces of it home for me.
I don’t have a bubbly drink in a tall crystal glass,
but a can of fizzy passionfruit La Croix, balancing on the sloped, gritty grey shingles I sit on.
I don’t have a view from the altar,
but a front row seat to the peachy dusk sunset sleepily stretching across the sky.
I don’t hear bells,
but the chorus of evening birdsong floods my ears along with the crackling of neighborhood campfires, including the one in my backyard.
It’s not my time for a white dress and heels and champagne and vows.
It’s my time for cozy knit grey dresses and cans of La Croix and excessive stacks of bracelets and messy hair, tied back with my favorite middle school bandana.
It’s my time to watch the sun set on the plans I’d presumed
and here, from the roof, smile and enjoy the view.