I watched the lightbulg in Dave's head brighten his face as he sat across from me, as we discussed the wedding ritual with our nominated executer and his lady.
Ideas finally started flowing after that, cloth and symbolism and metaphor, wishes and sharing joy and a spiral dance and weaving everyone's energies into a cord to fasten our hands together that we would keep forever.
I watched his face as the imagery finally began to set in, and reality started to sparkle with more magic than even the past few idyllic weeks.
I watched his face as the discussion continued onto other things, as the (best ever) 7-layer dip cleared the table and made room for chocolate fondue, I watched his face as we sat on the back deck and conversation wondered and wandered.
I watched his face all night as my tonsils screamed me from sleeping, his cheeks would waver in my eyes each time I swallowed and the pain seared past my ears.
I am still watching his face, remembering exactly the position of his mouth, cheeks, eyebrows as he thought of writing wishes onto parchment or cloth, the execution more powerful than a dreambook, more wrought with symbolism than any idea we'd come across so far.
I am still watching that face as I try to compose proposals and suggested infrastructures, as I write cryptography tutorials, as I wrestle with my doctor's office to move my appointment up to this afternoon.
In an hour there will be another meeting, and then another one, and the sudden unexplained scabs in my throat will continue to swell, and I will continue to frighten the high-and-mighties with the forced even-ness of my voice as I strain to hurl each syllable.
Up until last Friday I hadn't seen a doctor in over a decade, survived on my ability to take care of my fucking self.
Since then it's been pain and uncertainty from a surprise, blistering, oozing throat infection, and whole new issues as my overly proud brain wrestles with the idea of needing some arrogant schmuck who thinks he worked harder to get where he is than I did.