You're walking toward me, and you look beautiful. You're wearing too much makeup, but still, beautiful. You're also crying, which is silly. Then again I'm crying too; we're both silly.
A while back I didn't think this would work – we would work. I tried to support you, to put myself in your shoes, which was impossible but I tried. You used to tell me how you didn't kiss me with your eyes closed because you'd see him, feel him.
But here we are. You're smiling, I'm smiling, and we're about to get married.
The officiant is droning on. The chickens behind you catch my eye, which leads my gaze to him. He's standing in the distance over your left shoulder, near the coop. I know it's him from pictures in the paper. You'd think certain questions would come to my mind, like 'How'd he get out?' 'How'd he find you?' 'What does he want?'
But all I can think about is how short he is.