I had no words for Patrick. He�d looked up from poetry to ask which I preferred–the written or spoken word. Over years past and since, I�ve been marking our love and dreams in our own book–a map, a wish that might see us to our marriage.

There, I dreamed the wedding–rich hors d’oeuvres, delicate pink roses, and hundreds of our kindred belly-dancing the night away–and everything reflected in the radiant platinum bands that wrapped us.

Today Patrick took our book. He laughed as he read, as if he�d already known my words by his own heart. Then he penned–in spoken word–his proposal, and the platinum ring rang out and reflected, spoke and spelled our love and–again–I had no words.