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Beyond “I do.”
I absentmindedly twiddle the wedding band on my little finger until it comes off clattering to the ground. It is a reminder of how fat I’ve become. Our initials, engraved in the shank, are a reminder of our kindling.
Before marriage, it seemed all that mattered was love — the kind that gives wings to dormant cells. The kind that pours out of your mouth and engulfs you till you are drowned; smashes you on the rock of hopelessness and leaves you limp like a rag doll condemned to the fate of endless rain.
All that feeling is gone now. In its place is a different thing. Two decades later, my memories return, aged.
Love is a tricky word. On the one hand, it holds the assurance of eternal bliss. On the other hand, it promises pain — unlike any I’ve experienced before. The same primal core it strokes with it its feathered hand, bears the same primal sores that never heal.
Love is by no means an important condiment in one person getting to know another, but beyond the letter, Love is knowing. And knowing is time. Time to observe, time to feel, time to reject. Indeed, time to oppose violently as our structural impasses are forced to bend into the very forms that will define our mutual respect for one another. Love is knowledge, maturing.
I have often wondered on the many things that were said in those days when blind eyes…
