love is boring
2 in 85 = 29
yes, there were cameras, guests smiling, a dress which sister lovingly made, music, pink roses, a cake which mum baked and decorated, gifts, a message from the pulpit, the gold band and a slim man in a suit. and i was late, very late and i cried. that was 29 years ago when we said ‘yes’- now only pictures in a book.
said ‘yes’ to what? applauds for award-winning glossy hollywood real romantic love and happy ever after?
today i live with another man…
he says it with flowers and buys me pretty magazines. he sleeps on the smelly old couch in the second hand store while i search for cheap treasures. he’s the one puked on in the middle of the night when the boy had too much to drink. he’s the real man who stands in line at the check-out with only sanitary pads in his shopping basket because his wife had an unexpected emergency. he’s the one to put his hands down the pipes to clean out the blocked toilet and catches a spider in a bottle before she completely freaks. and he chooses to trust and trust again when a boy struggles to be honest. he’s the one running in the forest with a stone in the hand, breathing heavily, speaking to his creator about the boy. he runs the home for a week, taking care of the handicapped girl while his wife indulges in the art of words at a writing course. that slim man in the suit (now a few sizes larger) now puts his arm around a soft, full waistline and whispers into wrinkling and greying, “you are so beautiful”.
so love, this messy-gritty-everyday-dying-to-self love is boring.
but, this boring-messy-gritty-everyday-dying-to-self love is real.
it is eternal.
