When you rolled over this morning and growled at me before rolling unto your other side again I was reminded of our wedding day or rather the morning after. We had decided to hide away from the world for the night in a rather unusual manner, we got drunk on the balcony while I chain smoked and we told each other stories from high school. Of course we ended up in bed, our newly found status forced us into bed together unlike the first time we found ourselves sharing the same sheets. We were too drunk to fuck, to consumate our union, just like the first time. You pass out with your head on my stomach, sometime during the night you moved, wrapping your arms around me and whispering I love you in my ear, I was awake, I am always awake listening to your every move when you jostle me. I wake too easily sometimes. It would be good if I had a baby.
I crawled out of bed and looked out unto the balcony, the first day of marriage was not any different than any of the other days before it accept now if you died I would get money, at that moment you could go sky diving according to the rules I had set up when you were younger. What is marriage other than control, and if marriage is control, possession, something a bit further than romantic love, bordering on a parent child relationship than we had been married for years before the sunrise. I lit a cigarette and watched the smoke curl as the sky turned from colbalt to powder. At that moment according to religion and tradition we were not married, at that moment according to religion and tradition we were sinners and would always be because we made our vows long before any judge or priest deemed it legal or sacred.
I deemed it sacred when blood rushed down my thighs and from that day on nothing was going to break.
The wedding was not ours, it was for others, it was for the family, the friends, we chose a unitarian church because of my Christianity and your childhood temple being a Unitarian barn and I refused to take your last name. There are too few of my kind to have me seperate from them and the sound of Laura Christianna Cecilia Hurwitz is not pleasant. There was conversations among others other than us about what name the children would take, we never told them what the doctors had told me after the birth of my scars. Let them speak of grandchildren, I want their hope not their pity. Let them hope until their last breath. I grew tired yet excited as the day came near, formalities always do such things to me. I wore white as all brides do, you wore leather pants at my bidding and my cousins and siblings chuckles. We both wore our hair out, maybe I just wanted to encourage the comments of children, maybe it was because of that time you whispered in my ear when I had finally given in to your dark eyes and sweet smelling skin. That was the thought, the memory I took down the aisle with me and a smile played on my lips.
I crawled out of bed and looked out unto the balcony, the first day of marriage was not any different than any of the other days before it accept now if you died I would get money, at that moment you could go sky diving according to the rules I had set up when you were younger. What is marriage other than control, and if marriage is control, possession, something a bit further than romantic love, bordering on a parent child relationship than we had been married for years before the sunrise. I lit a cigarette and watched the smoke curl as the sky turned from colbalt to powder. At that moment according to religion and tradition we were not married, at that moment according to religion and tradition we were sinners and would always be because we made our vows long before any judge or priest deemed it legal or sacred.
I deemed it sacred when blood rushed down my thighs and from that day on nothing was going to break.
The wedding was not ours, it was for others, it was for the family, the friends, we chose a unitarian church because of my Christianity and your childhood temple being a Unitarian barn and I refused to take your last name. There are too few of my kind to have me seperate from them and the sound of Laura Christianna Cecilia Hurwitz is not pleasant. There was conversations among others other than us about what name the children would take, we never told them what the doctors had told me after the birth of my scars. Let them speak of grandchildren, I want their hope not their pity. Let them hope until their last breath. I grew tired yet excited as the day came near, formalities always do such things to me. I wore white as all brides do, you wore leather pants at my bidding and my cousins and siblings chuckles. We both wore our hair out, maybe I just wanted to encourage the comments of children, maybe it was because of that time you whispered in my ear when I had finally given in to your dark eyes and sweet smelling skin. That was the thought, the memory I took down the aisle with me and a smile played on my lips.
