tidal wave

I stood in the stockroom and experienced my first tears of happiness. A social media app allowed me to see a dear friend and her soldier beaming at their interlocked hands. She has been in love with this boy since her sophomore year of high school. She explained to me last semester their plans for the next three years, so I shouldn’t have been surprised to see the two of them with a perfect diamond twinkling on her hand and their love beaming out of the photo.

It’s the time in my life when proposals and portraits of my friends with their loves are a common occurrence, but I’m not quite used to it yet. Transitions are strange, but this one is also kind of lovely.

My best friends and I are old enough to go out for dinner at places nicer than Chick-fil-a and begin talking about future dreams. If I do ever find someone to love, I know I have three ladies who will stand at the altar with me as I pledge my earthly life to him.

And when one of those three says yes to one man for the rest of their lives, I will be just a few feet away, wearing a dress picked out for me and holding a bouquet of flowers that will be an excuse to let my eyes tear up.

After all, even happy tears should only come when I have the storeroom all to myself and I don’t have to appear brave.

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