A Wedding, A Slow Turnaround, A Lingering Dream

A Wedding I Didn’t Expect
En route to the Church of the Assumption—a place I often retreat to when the spell hits—I never anticipated walking into a wedding. The stretch limousine parked outside should have been a clue, yet it never occurred to me that the occasion might be a ceremony of union.

After praying at one of the altars in the foyer, where a cleaning woman busied herself with tidying the public bathroom in the Guardian building, I stepped inside and found myself witnessing a wedding. The gathering was sparse, but those present were elegantly dressed. Most of the women wore black gowns, with one exception—a woman in a flowing, vibrant outfit that revealed more than the others. When the time came to join the kneeling couple—a man in a grayish suit and a woman in a stunning white gown that cascaded down the steps before the red carpet—she and a man moved toward the altar.

Though I felt somewhat out of place, dressed in just shorts and a t-shirt, I remained on the sidelines, taking in the quiet beauty of the moment and silently wishing them a lifetime of happiness.

​A Saturday That Slowly Improved
The day began rough. My new high blood pressure medication left me feeling loopy and sleepy, and a relentless headache settled in, refusing to fade even after doses of Tylenol and aspirin.

After a short walk—choosing a gentle stroll over jogging—I stopped by Peekskill Coffee, hoping caffeine might offer relief. Sitting there, resisting the urge to mindlessly scroll through my phone, I observed the ebb and flow of life around me.

An older gentleman greeted me with a warm "Good morning" as he sat at my table. I was taken aback when I noticed the book he was reading—a study of the Third Reich. I paused, considering its weighty subject, but chose not to dwell on it. After all, people read for their own reasons, and he seemed friendly enough.

Watching him, however, nudged a quiet thought in me—I just wanted to go home, crawl into bed, and read all day as my headache slightly faded.
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Yet the coffee failed me. Yawning endlessly, I soon left for another walk before returning home, where I crashed in the living room, never picking up a book. My laptop played something or another in the background—white noise I never really watched.

​A Dream That Stayed With Me
I dreamed of a boy I loved—a boy who mattered. There have been many I’ve cared for, seen, loved, but this one lingered, because he had lived within me.

I was sad he believed I was angry when I was not. My silence had unsettled him, leading him to think I was troubled—by him, by our friendship. Before I drifted deeper into sleep, I wondered: was it okay that he left without goodbye, without a trace, as if I didn’t care? And in that moment, perhaps I didn’t. My feelings shift like the wind—they never stay the same.

But I was too tired to keep thinking. Sleep took me on the living room sofa, and that was fine—Scarlett O’Hara’s schemes could wait. The headache was gone because I was asleep.