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     The morning after we were married Lexy woke up and said, "I had the strangest dream. I have to remember to write it down in my book."
     "What was it about?" I asked.
     "Well, I was a writer, and I was really famous, but I had only ever written one sentence."
     "What was the sentence?"
     "'I remember my wife in white.' It just made people weep to hear it. In the dream, I couldn't even say it all the way through without choking up."
     She was beautiful in the morning sun, and I gathered her to me. We were naked except for our wedding rings, and I had never been so happy.
     "'I remember my wife in white'?" I said into her hair.
     "Yeah. Everybody just thought it was the saddest sentence ever written. And it didn't matter if I never wrote another word. This one sentence had put an end to the need for any future sentences. I had said it all."
     I could see her wedding dress hanging in the wardrobe next to my tux from the night before. I liked the tableau it created, the two of us dancing together without our bodies.
     "I don't think it's a sad sentence," I said. "My whole life I'll remember the way you looked last night, and there's no way it could ever make me anything but happy."