As he walks down the hallway
toward the woman who will soon become his wife,
someone stops him with a question.
"Do you love her?
Do you really love her?"
He turns his head for only a moment,
then keeps walking.
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
"No," he says,
his voice steady despite the tremble in his chest.
"I didn't love her."
The hallway falls silent.
"I adore her."
"There is a difference."
"Love can be spoken in a sentence.
Adoration is written in a lifetime."
"She makes every hard day
just a little easier.
Every loud moment
a little quieter.
Every storm
a little gentler.
She reminds me that home
isn't always a place.
Sometimes it's a person."
"I don't see perfection when I look at her.
I see every scar, every fear, every flaw.
And somehow,
I treasure them all."
"If tomorrow vanished
and all I was given
was one more sunrise beside her,
I'd still consider myself
the luckiest man alive."
He straightens his jacket,
takes one final breath,
and continues toward the altar.
Not because he is certain life will be easy.
But because, without hesitation,
he has found the one person
he wants to make every ordinary day
feel extraordinary.
