Dum spiro, spero. While I breathe, I hope. I slip the black band on his tattooed finger, and as soon as I finish, Oscar declares, “By the powers vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and husband.” I don’t hear anything else. Farrow’s hand is on the back of my neck. Mine on his, and we unite in a soul-bearing kiss. All around us is clapping and lightning and thunder. And I’d like to think Plato was right. That in the beginning of time, it was Farrow and me, and we were once whole together. Our souls united. But like all humans, we were split down the middle. Separate halves wandering around
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