We Are Married (Haha!)

We stood on a private island off the coast of Cairns,

the ocean curling around us like it knew

we were rewriting the tides.

I wore blue—

sapphires in my hair, around my neck,

the silver of my tiara already surrendering

to the salt in the air.

But none of it mattered,

because you were standing there.

You,

my smoke show of a husband.

The one I wanted.

The one I chose.

And I giggled.

Right in your face.

Right through your vows.

Right through my own.

Because how could a boy—this boy—love me like this?

Not just any boy,

but the one who checked every box

I never thought I’d get to tick.

No compromises on love,

on laughter,

on looks.

I am the luckiest girl in the world.

I’m marrying you.

And you know me.

You get me.

If it had gone off without a hitch,

it wouldn’t have been us.

We are the glitch,the beautiful, perfect mess

that makes sense in a world

that often doesn’t.

After, we wandered to Nudey Beach—which, ironically, is nothing like it sounds.

Just shells and coralscattered like confetti across the sand,

the kind of beautythat should’ve stolen my breath.

But sitting beside you,

watching the sun set fire to the sky,

it was you

who stole the light.

Since then, we’ve seen sunsets

from every corner of the world,

but none of them hold a candle

to the way you look at me.

We swam the Great Barrier Reef,

careful not to touch—the coral, the fish, the turtles.

But what do you do

when the turtles touch us?

The ocean wrapped around us,

alive and pulsing,

but even in that vastness,

it felt like the world was just

you and me.

We drove with the top down

through the world’s oldest rainforest,

the air thick with history,

the trees whispering secrets

older than we could fathom.

We reached Cape Tribulation,

and of course—I had a fall.

But you were there,

pulling me up,

and we laughed

until the tears blurred the lines

between joy and love.

“Don’t go near the water,”they warned,

even when the beaches

were the colour of dreams.

Crocodiles could be anywhere,

and you knew—you know—they’re my fifth favourite animal.

You memorized that.

Like you memorize everything about me.

I wanted so badly to see one in the wild,

but Queensland kept its secrets.

So we went to Hartley’s.

Watched the jumping crocs

launch themselves from the lagoon,

met Douglas—the six-metre menace from a golf course water hazard.

And when you took that photo of me

holding a baby crocodile,

you didn’t think it was strange

that I cried from happiness.

Because you get it.

You get me.

We spent two weeks

wrapped in the soft, golden glow

of post-elopement bliss.

No plans, no expectations—just us.

We flew home through a storm,

the sky tearing itself apart,

but you held my hand,

talked to me about the colour green on my island,

and brought me a peace so deep

I could keep my mask on.

You made the turbulence

feel like nothing more

than the world breathing with us.

And now—we’re married.

Haha!

You have a wife.

Haha!

You are a husband.

We say it like it’s a joke,

but it’s the truest thing

I’ve ever known.

Because this love?

This life?

It’s everything.

And I would choose you—every single day,

in every single world,

for all the sunsets to come.