On Leaving the Bachelorette Brunch

Because I gazed out the window at birds doing backflips when the subject turned to diamonds, because my eyes glazed over with the slightly sleepy sheen your cake will wear, never let it be said that I’d rather be firing arrows at heart-shaped dartboards or in a cave composing polyglot puns. I crave, I long for transforming love as surely as leaves need water and mouths seek bread. But I also fear the colder changes that lie in wait and threaten to turn moons of honey to pools of molasses, broad front porches to narrow back gardens, and tight rings of friendship to flimsy things that break when a gold band brightly implies Leave early, go home, become one with the one the world has told you to tend and treasure above all others. You love, and that’s good; you are loved, that’s superb; you will vanish and reap some happy rewards. But look at the birds.