Oh the veins of marriage,,,,, like roadways, like star-paths, like phases up and down, like bliss, like war, like sweet, like sour, like a link, like a bonding, like a perfect whole, like a series of missing gaps,,,,, forward, yet looking back over their shoulders, they go and come.
Hold the message and massage it; handle it gently, for in it is life and love. Who will sweep with their mind to understand its values? Who will hold it tight with their heart…through the storm, through the uncertainties? Who will strive to the edge of their teeth to chew down mental grief and pain for the belonging joy that is hoped to come?
Yet, there are the crossing lines where the road passes the points of no return. Alas, may it never on Earth ring its alarm and present its tolls! For some it never comes, but for others it is as sure as death.
In the pot of marriage mixture, the stew of life becomes the evidence of wholesomeness or the sickness of the meal. The writ speaks: “Not until death do you part!” The death of what, of whom? Quite cruel would it seem to the deep in love to be told at the onset: This marriage of love dies when either one of you become deceased! How Love seeks to be eternal.