Love at first sight is easy to understand; it’s when two people have been looking at each other for a lifetime that it becomes a miracle.
She believes in will. It is so frail and delicate at night that she can’t even imagine the next morning, but it is so wide and binding by the middle of the next day that she cannot even remember the terrible night. It is as if she gives birth every day.
We finished off a small pie and when we got home I washed the tomato sauce out of her hair, which I had expected, but also out of her underwear, which I think must be the sign that you have really, really enjoyed your lunch.
It was a festival of maternal love, all day, every day.
Marriage is not a ritual or an end. It is a long, intricate, intimate dance together and nothing matters more than your own sense of balance and your choice of partner.
You are imperfect, permanently and inevitably flawed. And you are beautiful.
Some people are your family no matter when you find them, and some people are not, even if you are laid, still wet and crumpled, in their arms.
Be real and unashamed. Even of your faults.