Tender wedding vows for a partner at a rooftop ceremony

I keep thinking about that first night on this kind of rooftop, the one above your old apartment, when we climbed up just to see the city lights and ended up staying until the sky turned gray. We had no blankets, no plan, just each other's shoulders to lean into.

You pointed out constellations that I'm pretty sure you invented, and I believed every one of them, because I would have believed you about anything that night.

Today, with the city spread out below us again, I promise to keep climbing up to small, high places with you — literal and otherwise — whenever the world feels too loud or too low.

I promise to invent a few gentle lies with you when the truth is too heavy, and to always let you point at the sky and tell me what you see.

I will keep choosing the view that has you in it, every single time.

That night on the rooftop, I remember the cold more than anything — and how you gave me your jacket without even asking if I wanted it, like it was already decided.

I made up those constellations because I was nervous, and you laughed at every single one like they were real discoveries, and somehow that made me less afraid of everything else, too.

Up here today, I promise to keep handing you whatever I have — jackets, time, attention — without waiting to be asked, for as long as we both keep climbing.

I promise to stay a little nervous with you, to keep inventing small wonders when the real ones feel far away, and to trust that you'll laugh me gently back to steady ground.

Wherever we stand, I will keep looking for the view that includes you first.