The Answer

And though I hear his vow, I still stand across the altar. For the spirit has whispered about the fickleness of man, and the mind sees how, at times, his nails claw a little deeper as they hold my hand.

And perhaps that's his fear.

Perhaps, too engrossed in myself, at times I overlook him.

But the question still lingers—will saying yes mean being tamed?

Such a future seems barren then, without the wild woman within.

And though I know my way back to her, the path is treacherous and long.

And then, will love really be worth it all?

The sacrifice of self for something tinged with ego?

The flowers in my hand, I know, have started wilting.

The plans of the future in his eyes have started diminishing.

And yet, none abandons the altar—

Him, waiting for me to take the step.

I, waiting for him to say something, anything.

Anything that says the wild woman stays.

That he stands not between me and her but with us,

Against the faux wisdom of society and rules that deem her dangerous.

Against the expectations that call me to be small and palatable.

But he is yet to speak.

And so, I stand across the altar,

With my protector,

Waiting for him to say those words,

Waiting for her to take the step with me