This is the first night of the first day of the rest of our lives. This is the first hand I am holding, in the first night of the first day of the rest of my life. And it is your hand. And it is as if the whole universe is opened wide in front of us, our eyes of a luster reflected by a thousand galaxies far too distant yet so near, shining in twists and turns of collages of tiny spots and lines.
We hear the rumble of thunder and look at the streaks of lightning, and we think it is beautiful as I think you are — so elegantly wonderful your hands are, so masterpiecefully astounding your eyes are. Alone I would’ve gotten lost in the momentary darkness the night dissolved in my view, yet together I’ve always found my way because you are itself my direction, my path, my destination. Being with you, no matter how lost and entangled we might be in all the secret and unbeknown places there are, is anything but wrong, is anything but a mistake.
And in this first night of the first day of the rest of our lives — I wished nothing but keep the evening endless, keep the moon positioned overhead our cloudless sky, and designate the beating of our hearts in soft-spoken duets that would keep on rendering ballads of togetherness, in the distant dawn, in the far-off morning sun.