Tender wedding vows for a spouse at a rooftop ceremony

Do you remember the roof on Fulton Street, the one with the crooked folding chairs and the view of nothing but water towers? I didn't know yet that I loved you. I only knew I didn't want to go inside.

Up here, with the city humming below us again, I promise to keep choosing that same unwillingness to leave — to stay close, to stay curious about you, even on the nights when the view is just rooftops and traffic and nothing special.

I promise to bring you up to whatever ledge I find in this life, literal or otherwise, and say look, come see this, the way you taught me to.

I promise to keep building us a small high place, away from the noise, where we can always find each other.

Whatever floor we end up on, I will keep choosing the stairs that lead to you.

I remember the water towers too, and the way you kept insisting we stay for one more song even though my feet were freezing in those thin shoes I shouldn't have worn.

I promise to keep being the one who says one more song — to resist the urge to rush us toward whatever comes next, and let us linger in the good, ordinary moments.

I promise to bring the blanket, the extra layer, the small practical warmth, so that your reaching for beauty always has somewhere soft to land.

I promise to meet you on every rooftop you find, even the ones that are really just fire escapes, because wherever you are determined to look is a view worth having.

However high up we go, I will keep my hand in yours, steadier now than it was that first cold night.