15 years

“Shall I give you a little crystal goblet?” I smile.
“And maybe I’ll pick a crystal vase for you,” he smiles back.
Both of us smiling, teasing each other with “gifts”—exactly fifteen years ago.

Today, we timidly said “YES” to each other.

Fifteen years ago—I wore a white, flowing dress. He—a black, slightly too large suit.

Today—I wear a cozy white sweater. He—a black T-shirt.

That day, we were nervous as if facing the biggest exam of our lives.

Today, we laugh recalling it, completely relaxed.

That day, we were young. One with more hair, the other with fewer wrinkles.

Today—one of us is a regular at hair dyeing appointments, the other a client of hair trimming.

That day, we hoped everything would be fine.

Today, punching each other playfully, we smile thinking, “Too bad no one told us back then—we had nothing to worry about.”

We restrained ourselves from crystal “prizes.”

I didn’t get a vase. He didn’t get a goblet.

We decided that our most precious THREE “crystal treasures” wouldn’t live on a shelf.

They are here—by our side—slightly older, but warmed by peace and the fullness of life.

That day, we planned to be happy.

Not anything else—and we became that.

That day, we didn’t know how rich we would become.

Today, heading out to dinner at the “celebration” place with all FIVE of us, we carry in our hearts the knowledge that we are the wealthiest.

No empty seats left in the back of our little crew.

The bride from fifteen years ago,
(almost like the fifteen-year-old captain)

V.