6.

perfect strangers

a puppy pile of tangled limbs and foot rubs always making room for one or two more as the hand i hold from the floor stretched up to the leg that is not my own is that of a perfect stranger – but not in the way you think.

because there are no strangers here. just bodies and hearts, people who are people who are here to love these two that love their love (a wedding is such a good place for that, you know). and as the woman's hand on my belly reminds me it's taut and sweet, and his hands at my feet remind me i am too, i find myself glad i made room for yet one more, folding my arms around a waist and loving the hell out of her while the rest on the couch fold themselves in.

and i find we have become a strange new creature with the rustling cadence of slowly shifting limbs and independent lungs. hearts wide open, our clothing still on, and i know my only job is to be. here. allowing her to whisper advice to my fears till the wave passes through us and i feel my spirit hold on tighter as we help her ferry away tears – for this is the gift of perfect strangers and i am feeling particularly generous. and she, she is particularly generous.

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there is an epilogue to this story: one that stretched far past the night, past the quiet of the stars that held us suspended in awe, as just two held on to each other tight, forever grateful for this moment: a shared delight in perfect strangers.