I don't have many pictures of you. I will have to change this so that I have something to show at your wedding.
Behind you, sits a couple. Silence and a matching pair of Starbucks cups sits between them, on a table I've seen hundreds of times before, in dozens of locations. They lean towards one another but look elsewhere. She rests her chin on her hands, fingers intertwined. She has an elbow on the table, her index finger just touching her mouth, as if she was thinking of something or somewhere. Where would a million miles away be from where they sat?
You're holding a cup of your own, sipping deliberately whenever I snapped, the functional and tea-holding equivalent of a mask. But your eyes peek at me, hinting at the inner sparkle they try to hide.
I was glad to be sharing a table with you and will envy the man who takes my place.