The priest at your favorite church may never wed us and my mother may never meet you nor my father never know your name but I can always hold your hand through my empty glass every time I finish a drink and whisper your name to the spirits I consume and if that is not the sanctity of marriage then i may never know what is.
There is a certain familiarity to longing - like a song I no longer sing but will always make my fingers dance through the keys every time I see a piano just to hear the tune again. Missing you is like trying to remember the back roads of the highway I used to take - I may never know what lies in the gravel that laid on the streets of that path but I know for a fact the version of me who took a turn to drive through it have seen things I can only imagine - have heard things I can only wish to have heard - the version of us who chose each other is the same.
Life is full of possibilities; like a book on a shelf unopened, unread, holding a million universes where we may or may not have happened. I like to think that somewhere out there is a version of me who was brave enough to take the risk with us. I like to imagine a life where we did not think of the possibility of us hurting each other - just the certainty that we were worth hurting for. The thorns intertwined beneath our veins was a ****** commitment to a life we never chose.
The ring you wear may not be from me and the house I built may not be one you call home but we will always think of each other’s eyes for a fleeting moment and imagine a life where WE could have been and if that is not marriage then I do not know what is.