I remember sitting at weddings as a kid. Bored to tears, feeling out of place.
This will never happen to me, I used to think. And I came to believe it.
I could not imagine the enormous audience or the glossy perfect narrative,
I could not see a fairy tale unfolding out of the mist,
A preacher blessing a couple he scarcely knows.
It will not ever happen to me, because marriage does not happen.
It is chosen, against all odds. In spite of our flaws. It starts after the fairy tale ends.
I needed the scars and the tattoos. To learn that it is as sacred as I was told,
but that the rules are not.
I had to be so alone
That I took the batteries out of the ticking clock, so at least I didn’t have to hear the seconds pass.
Then, I had to lose it all.
The only things that happen to us,
Happen when we forget to choose.