Sometimes I think about my wedding day.
You're the groom.
You're crying as I walk down the aisle.
We're in Chicago, in a park where I made a Freudian slip
that defined us for so long.
I always wonder if your tears are of joy or sorrow.

Sometimes I think about my wedding day.
I'm the bride.
You're crying as I walk down the aisle.
We're in New York, a place of both of our dreams
and limited opportunity.
I always wonder if you notice that the groom was crying too.