Don’t get too attached goddammit, you know how people always leave”
my mother says this to me at the kitchen table as she tips back her third beer this evening
her hands shake and it isn’t because of the alcohol in her blood
she’s thinking of my father and how he stopped coming home after work
and how she doesn’t know what to do with her time now so she spends it on gambling and late nights in grimy bars with men whose hands are too greedy
“don’t fucking fall in love” she mumbles as she pushes her chair back and leaves
i laugh and think of you

there are car crashes that make other car crashes look like child’s play
car crashes that make your heart jump up to your mouth in horror
accidents that could be mistaken for a movie because this kind of wreckage doesn’t exist in real life
except it is real life and there’s someone watching you from inside the flames as you thank god that you are only driving by and not burning up with them

we are that car crash
there is always blood and always death and always someone watching in distress wondering if they should call for help
but they never do and we never stop and there is still smoke sticking to my clothes from last night
and I’m still waiting for your call and you are still drunk so I know even if you pick up the phone and dial
your words will be slurred and I won’t understand a goddamned thing

and I just have to accept the fact that you never call me when you’re sober enough to realize what you’re saying
and you only say I love you
when there’s no one else around to hear it.

—  Car crash love– Lily Rain

And I understand. I understand why people hold hands: I’d always thought it was about possessiveness, saying ‘This is mine.’ But it’s about maintaining contact. It is about speaking without words. It is about “I want you with me” and “don’t go”.

Goddamn, I do not want kisses in the rain or hugs from behind, I want making out in the back of a taxicab and breaking into private property while our blood burns like it is fifteen percent alcohol. I want to be thrown into a pool with all my fucking clothes on, and then I want to make out until our lips hurt, soaking wet and still not caring. None of this gentle, slow moving, well-planned, serious, texting each other I love you’s. Hell no. Someone give me fucking fire. Give me passion and danger. Let me burn myself on your bad decisions and laugh while I do it. I don’t want my first love to be safe, I want it to be reckless, foolish. Make my mother talk to my father for the first time in weeks, trying to get me away from that bad news boy. I don’t want to be able to visualize coming home from work to him at six p.m and sitting down pretending to feel the same, I want to picture shattering myself in all his favorite places once the vodka finally wears off and I have decided I want to see straight.
—  I want to be the antagonist of my own romantic comedy–f.g.a
Dear Future Husband,

Today I learnt something more of our love. I learnt again that ancient truth of love’s momentary beauty.

our love will be the most beautiful, reckless, and scandalous shadow of the most incredible Love Story ever told.
our love will mirror God’s absolute faithfulness and covenant commitment to His wayward bride.
our love will be fearless and courageous, risking reputation and fleeing comfort to love the broken and lost.
our love will be endlessly enduring and frightfully fleeting as we mingle our numbered breaths.
our love will soar the heights of earthly pleasures only to leave us yearning deeper for heavenly delights.
and our love will be the closest we are to home before we step into our Father’s Home.

my love, our love will ever only be a window, but together we’ll gaze deeply into that glimpse we have here of God’s infinite, immeasurable, eternal, scandalous, radical, relentless, redeeming love for His church… His people… for us. the window is foggy, but even this dim picture will make our hearts beat wildly together with hungry anticipation.

‘very soon the shadow will give way to Reality. The partial will pass into the Perfect. The foretaste will lead to the Banquet. The troubled path will end in Paradise. A hundred candle-lit evenings will come to their consummation in the marriage supper of the Lamb. And [our] momentary marriage will be swallowed up by Life. Christ will be all and in all. And the purpose of [our] marriage will be complete.’
(Piper, This Momentary Marriage)