Imeros

by Paul Hina

waits, watching anxiously to catch a glimpse of the bride.

  For a moment he thinks of his wedding day, and how beautiful Rachael was, and how happy he was that day. He can still remember the certainty of purpose he felt when he watched her walk down the aisle.

  He has felt never doubted his decision to stay with Rachael. The last few weeks, even, have been nice and anger-free. He doesn't feel like he's manufacturing reasons to be angry with her anymore. He is done looking for ways to rationalize his past dishonesty. He's now in that place where he just pretends that nothing was ever different, and is perfectly happy to keep it that way.

  There she is. Joelle.

  She has walked out of the chapel, clutching Brad's arm.

  The guests start to applaud and blow bubbles at them, and, amidst the chaos, Jacob takes a moment to dwell on her. The moment slows down in front of him, and he watches her face—as well as he can from this distance. And she is truly radiant, as any bride should be. He's never seen her more beautiful.

  Maybe he's never seen her so happy.

  Maybe.

  He rises from the bench and begins his walk home. The June light is bright. And, though he is sorry to see her go, the sunshine makes it hard for him to be solemn. Everything around him is just too beautiful.

  The words rise from the grass. Whole phrases fall from the trees. Sentences rain down from the sky, and he can't stop himself from pausing every few yards to write it all down. And it has all become so effortless. Everywhere he looks lately there are words. Good words looking for the poems he will give them.

  It is not that there isn't sadness. There is. He's heartbroken, really.

  And doing the best work of his life.