Our wedding ceremony was cobbled together with rock and roll and bagpipes and honest poetry, love and tears; there were no vows, except to bluntly say, “I do.” If the act of marriage itself is not promise enough, then an oath is meaningless armor against the inevitable.
Today is my wedding anniversary. Two years ago, The Chef and I were rocking out to our Bookish Punk Rock Scottish Vintage Poetry-Laden Party with a Wedding in the Middle. I walked out to the sweet, sweet sounds of The Clash and the ceremony was composed strictly of poetry by Rumi, Mary Pauline Collier (my husband’s grandmother), and my favourite, Pablo Neruda.
*I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You by Pablo Neruda was the heart of our wedding ceremony. We are weird like that.