The Question (Or How You Almost Dropped the Ring)

You’d planned it for months—

the when, the where, the perfect words.

But of course,

life had other ideas.

The picnic got rained out.

The dog ate the speech you’d practiced.

And when you knelt in the kitchen,

still in your mismatched socks,

the ring almost slipped

through your shaking fingers—

She laughed.

(Not at you.

*With* you.

The way she always does.)

Then she pulled you up

and kissed your nervous hands,

whispering, *"Yes"*

before you could even ask.

Later, she’ll tell everyone

you were poetic.

You’ll swear you forgot your own name.

The truth?

It didn’t matter.

Love had already written the answer

in the way your coffee cups sat side by side,

in the laundry pile you never minded folding,

in all the ordinary moments

that somehow

felt like miracles.