Another beautiful wedding ceremony complete, I walk into the decked out reception hall dateless, yet again,  pick up my name card and sit down amongst a few other “single” attendees, obviously by design of the hosts who hope the love bug might just bite tonight. The lights dim, the DJ announces that it is time for the traditional “who’s been married longest dance”. All of a sudden it feels as if a neon arrow is buzzing above my head announcing  to the guests who are leaving their seats in droves: “Excuse me, please direct your attention to Table 10! She’s still single!". 

My dearest Noemi,

I think about it a lot. 

I wonder who gave you that round forehead or the kissable dimple on your
left cheek.  I wonder whose laugh has that same joyfully bumpy rhythm.
Surely there must be someone in your lineage with a scream that reaches a glass-shattering pitch.