Today we promise each other forever. A part of me still refuses to believe this is actually happening. Especially not to me, the guardian of cynicism and antithesis of ceremonial romance. Love is an arcane and impossible language. Like plucking feather from thin air, like smelling roses in a desert, like galloping on unicorns, like chancing upon your soulmate, like promising eachother forever. The odds are against us, I’m acutely aware of how flimsy the foundation of this whole institution and how fragile a promise sustained by human temperament is. But you have this magnificent gift of distorting reality field around me. It’s amusing in an almost heartbreaking way how I allow you to enter the sacred realms of my perfection, no holds barred, no hidden proxies, mind, body and soul tout compris. I need freedom, to an almost destructive extent. Nobody has ever managed to keep me grounded for long. But when I finally met someone who is willing to set me free, I actually clung. My apocalyptical attachment to our chemistry-induced dances entices me as much as I am grateful for your ever encouraging nods to my wildly unpredictable ambitions. In the most bizzarely harmonious fashion, your steadfastness complements my foolhardy self. I feel like I can finally stop rebelling and start building the scaffold of the rest of my life. And I can’t imagine doing this without you.
Out of sheer mischief, I wanted to give you a fist-bump the moment the mayor pronounced us man and wife. I held out my fist to meet yours. Caught by surprise, you grasped my fist and then proceeded to plant a peck on my lips. Your eyes twinkled while every one else laughed. Oh so typically us. When we walked out of the cityhall and I looked over the sunset decorated horizon, this song from The Sound of Music came to my mind:
Nothing comes from nothing
Nothing ever could
So somewhere in my youth or childhood
I must’ve done something good
All is good.