Sonnet XVII

Me and that one guy are not a very lovey-dovey or sentimental couple, at least not when there are other people around. We talked about writing our own vows for the big day, but we decided that we would rather do traditional vows, as neither of us really wanted to try to remember or recite our own vows.

We also didn't to keep our guests sitting there sweltering in the July heat any longer than was strictly necessary, but we did want to include something personal and unique. We both love Pablo Neruda's Sonnet XVII and decided to have it read during the ceremony:


I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

The last paragraph, especially, makes me happy every time I read it.

We did end up writing our own vows to each other, and exchanged them a few days before the wedding. It was a very personal and special night for us. Our vows are now sitting in frames on each of our night stand's, to remind us first thing in the morning, and last thing before bed that even if I am being grouchy, or he is leaving his clothes all over the house, at the end of the day, we'd rather be together than apart.