This time, there were no nervous mothers, no stoic fathers, no 267 guests—just the Ganges and me.
I could do this—with more honesty—in the middle of this holy river, in the middle of India.
By the light of the small candle, I read the vows in a whisper, hoping the sounds of the sitar would cover my words so that only the river would hear them. I placed my ring on my finger and read aloud.
Thank you for the seven years together.
Thank you for your kindness, your love, and your forgiveness.
Whatever anger you have, please release. Whatever blame I have, I release.
Thank you.
I love you and I let you go.
I love you and I let you go.
I love you.
I let you go.
By Kristin Zibell (to be continued)
