I'm in a house, and suddenly we realize that this is supposed to be my wedding day. I turn to Rich and ask him to go outside and pick some flowers for me. While he is doing this, I realize that nothing is prepared. I have no DJ, no cake, no reception set up. Rich has seen me in my dress now before we've even walked down the aisle.
I try to force myself to wake up, hoping this is a dream, that I can have the chance to do this right. (I've done this in many a dream. It really only works in my worse nightmares.) Rich comes back inside with four flowers. They're simple, but so pretty and so perfect. I smile at the love of my life.
Before I know it, I'm being preceded by a wedding party not of my choosing, being given a way by some random fat guy that I've never met. Then, thankfully, I wake up.
I think this means I have some anxiety where the wedding planning and organization is concerned. Which is definitely the case. But I like the part where Rich picks those flowers for me...
One day, shortly after we began dating, he took me for a long drive, knowing that I was stressed about current events and wanting to give me a respite. Before turning around to head back, he pulled over on the side of the road and hopped out of the car real quick. He waded a few feet through a thick field, and plucked a yellow flower for me. He got back in the car and gave it to me, and I just sat there for several minutes, staring at the flower, completely blown away by the romanticism, the spontaneity of his action. I kept that flower for months in my car, between cup holders, until it was so dried up that you couldn't tell what it had been. Then, I took the dried petals, crumbled them in my hand, closed my eyes to make a silent wish, and blew the remains into the wind.
I love him.