We got married nine years ago, on a hot August day in Moscow. I remember plenty of details, from the nutty drive to the ZAKS (wedding hall) with N at the wheel in her white dress, honking the horn and swearing like a sailor in traffic, the bouquet wet and cool in my hands in the passenger seat. The waves of relatives, the hectic waiting, the rush towards the room, me saying yes before I was supposed to, afterwards letting those white doves go, counting together and watching them fly away, ducking right.
A beautiful portrait. I often have felt the same thing when I see pictures of my wife as a child, or college student. A whole life she had that I wish I'd been there to see, to be part of. A part of her that I'll never truly understand or know.
I love your story. I can feel the big heartedness in every word, and how much she's under your skin in the best way. It's cool how you express seeing other dimensions of her life, before you were in it, by being in her home town. I like your imaginings, and the real life day to day you describe here.
A beautiful portrait. I often have felt the same thing when I see pictures of my wife as a child, or college student. A whole life she had that I wish I'd been there to see, to be part of. A part of her that I'll never truly understand or know.
Just, sigh!
I love your story. I can feel the big heartedness in every word, and how much she's under your skin in the best way. It's cool how you express seeing other dimensions of her life, before you were in it, by being in her home town. I like your imaginings, and the real life day to day you describe here.