I was registering for my freshman year of college classes when one of the mediators in the room looked up from his phone, locked eyes with the other mediator, smiled and said, “They did it.” It was June 26th and ‘it’ was, of course, the 5-4 landmark case ruling that same-sex marriage was now legalized in all fifty states. On the drive back home to my suburban-outskirt town forty-five minutes south of the city, the billboards lining the Atlanta interstate all proudly bore emblems of ROY-G-BIV. Love had won.

As we careen towards party nominations and gear up for the approaching election, my thoughts have been fixated on politics even more so than usual, which is to say- a lot. I've always had a particular passion for social politics, but marriage equality was an issue I not too long ago found very conflicting. It didn't settle with my religion, nor did it settle with, what were at the time, my not-gonna-budge political affiliations. Nevertheless, a bit of self-questioning and challenging alongside some good old-fashioned internet article browsing (actually not that old-fashioned, but the adjective sounded nice) resulted in my finally coming to terms with it: love is love. And that is okay.

Flash forward three months from that landmark case I jumped up and down for and I’m taking my first Marta train to my first Pride festival. This Pride festival is special in particular not because it’s my first, but because it’s the first where its unifying theme has been more with an intention of a pure celebration than of protest. My friends and I made our way through the muddy grounds of Piedmont Park to the festival area. It was overcast and misty, but the constant threat of sporadic showers hadn’t seemed to deter anyone. There were tents upon tents with photo booths, stickers, and free contraceptives. Planned Parenthood administered free HIV testing. Church groups gathered with open arms to showcase their support for gay youth. Others advocated on the importance of consent, and awareness for LGBTQ youth homelessness. The support was real, and it was radiating.

The concert grounds of the ginormous festival were a trek downhill, and the water runoff from the week’s downpour on top of the thousands of feet passing through had broken and packed the grass into a giant mud field. My roommate and hometown-bestie looked wearily from their shoes to the sludge of grass and dirt, opting instead to sit on the slightly damp, albeit less muddy hill overlooking the concert grounds. But I needed photos, which meant I needed to be close.

I rolled up my jeans and thanked that the Google-forecast gods had bid me wear rain-appropriate sandals and began my careful navigation through the muck. I had been trying to leap from grass island to grass island in an attempt to keep my feet from looking entirely like they were meant for Jungle Book. But after several slick steps, it was clear that resistance was futile, and I trudged straight through the crowd. EDM music blasted in waiting for the next act to take the stage. One guy commanded a circle of spectators as he spun and stomped in the dirt, cheering and dancing and edging the crowd on as he finally flung himself back into the mud, snow-angel style. His fluorescent-clad girlfriend slung her arms around his mud-smeared neck and stole him for a kiss. For a moment, the clouds parted, and the misted paused, and I kid you not, an actual rainbow shimmered momentarily in an arc across that field.

Few things I think can compare to the amount of stranger unity I felt admist this throng of tye-dye and neon, save for perhaps A Great Big World taking to the stage and mouthing the words to "Say Something" along with a few thousand other teary-eyed audience members. Their more upbeat track, “Everyone is Gay” which features the catchy lyrics “If you’re gay then you’re gay/ If you’re straight well that’s great/ If you fall in between that’s the best way to be/ You’ve got so many options/ Every fish in the sea wants to kiss you.” had the crowd pulsing and cheering. The energy was undeniable.

And I thought to myself, feet submerged in mud, that this was my religion. Love and good intention. Everyone here was simply happy, without hesitation posing with smiles and peace signs for my camera lens while kindly asking if they needed to move so I could get better shots of the music acts.

The next day, we were minus my Marta-savvy roommate and plus another hometown bestie. I was scared we’d take the wrong track, but all you had to do was look around for passengers in every color knee-highs, and neon tutu’s to know you were on the right route. The parade and protests were already in full-swing when we arrived at the rainbow crosswalks in Midtown. Protesters congregated at the front of the procession, chanting howls of opposition. Pride advocates surrounded them with smiles, waving giant flower cutouts. It was then on that cusp of both love and hate, judgement and acceptance that I felt a new certainty prickle over my skin. It prickled with a particular resolution and a realization, and that certainty is that there are far worse things in this world than love, and if I can't accept love, then I am part of the worse. How could I do anything besides defending such the purity that is love? Love has no body; love has only souls, and who was I to prevent those two beings their freedom of choice and affection?