I walk down the driveway, my best friend beside me. We enter the backyard, walking into a fairytale garden. Thick green grass to cushion our feet. Lush trees drooping down oranges for us to pluck. And in the far corner, a delicate gazebo waiting for two.

We wear black to separate ourselves from the celebration and tend to the guests. But as the ceremony unfolds, we succumb to the the gravity of joy, and become part of it. Smiles spread contagiously among the assembled as she comes into view, a lovely vision wrapped in white, as though Heaven itself clothed her in its light.

The vows are made. Tears are shed. We stand at a distance but our hearts are close. Then the party begins. The DJ pulls songs from all genres and all eras. The power goes out twice; the dancing never stops. An old couple across the street sit in lawn chairs, holding hands, here to witness what they once underwent.

This is the paradox of love: that it is timeworn and forever new.

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