2007-11-10
Union.
Today, eavesdropping, I came across news of a wedding.
In Borders, while nonchalantly browsing the pages of a book soon to come into my possession, I heard the strains of a conversation by the two women queuing in front of me.
One left the queue (insanely long today, I blame the weekend) to pick out a pen, and returned with a garish red rose one, the scarlet bloom bordered with sparkles and tinged with a splash of feathers. For a moment they fussed over it, they themselves feeling embarrassed over this monstrosity of stationary. It was then revealed that their friend, niece, daughter (or some other relationship I may not know of) wanted it dearly for her wedding guestbook.
For lack of a better word, it was sweet. Listening to the ladies note how strange it would be to have a flower bobbing about as you signed your name, and yet, on such a momentuous ocassion, I suppose it is understandable to splurge on something you'd only use once.
Fifteen minutes later, waiting by the steps for the father to return from his trip to the washroom, I watched another couple, young, this time embracing in the middle of the crowded bookstore, twining of black sleeve and dark jeans. Chaste, without the public hooha of outright liplocking. But it lingered, for a moment, as though both sides were remembering the warmth and touch, snapshot-ing it in their flesh memory.
I find myself so intrigued by relationships, the intricate motion and feel of each nuance. Like something made to be so complicated in this harried world; and yet, at a second glance, so simple, so tender.
abstracity at 11:34 p.m.