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 coral
scattered like confetti across the sand,
the kind of beauty
that 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.