dance in a storm in my best dresss fearless

I was told the average girl begins to plan her wedding at the age of 7. She picks the colors and the cake first.

By the age of 10 she knows time, and location.

By 17 she’s already chosen a gown, 2 bridesmaids and a maid of honor.

By 23 she’s waiting for a man who wont break out in hives when he hears the word “commitment”, someone who doesn’t smell like a Band-Aid drenched in lonely, someone who isn’t a temporary solution to the empty side of the bed, someone who’ll hold her hand like it’s the only one they’ve ever seen.

To be honest, I don’t know what kind of tux I’ll be wearing, I have no clue what my wedding will look like.

But I imagine the women who pins my last to hers will butterfly down the aisle like a 5 foot promise.

I imagine her smile will be so large that you’ll see it on google maps, and know exactly where our wedding is being held.

The woman that I plan to marry will have champagne in her walk, and I will get drunk on her footsteps.

When the pastor asks if I take this woman to be my wife, I will say yes before he finishes the sentence. I’ll apologize later for being impolite but I will also explain him that our first kiss happened 6 years ago and I’ve been practicing my “Yes” for past 2, 165 days.

When people ask me about my wedding I never really know what to say, but when they ask me about my future wife I always tell them her eyes are the only Christmas lights that deserve to be seen all year long. I say she thinks too much, misses her father, loves to laugh, and she’s terrible at lying because her face never figured out how to do it correctly.

I tell them if my alarm clock sounded like her voice, my snooze button would collect dust. I tell them if she came in a bottle I would drink her until my vision is blurry and my friends take away my keys. If she was a book, I would memorize her table of contents. I would read her cover-to-cover, hoping to find typos, just so we can both have a few things to work on.

Because aren’t we all unfinished? Don’t we all need a little editing Aren’t we all waiting to be proofread by someone? Aren’t we all praying they will tell us that we make sense? She don’t always make sense, but her imperfections are the things I love about her the most.

I don’t know when I will be married. I don’t know where I will be married but I do know this, whenever I’m asked about my future wife— I always say: …She’s a lot like you.

—Rudy Francisco (via creatingaquietmind)

(Source: katcossio, via creatingaquietmind)

There are times when it will go so wrong that you will barely be alive, and times when you realise that being barely alive, on your own terms, is better than living a bloated half-life on someone else’s terms.

—Jeanette Winterson, Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal? (via creatingaquietmind)

(Source: larmoyante, via creatingaquietmind)

We hold on so tightly, because we’re terrified of loss. We hold on till our hands bleed. And in that self-shattering persistence, we fail to see the answer: Just let go.

—Yasmin Mogahed (via middlenameconfused)

We don’t learn to love each other well in the easy moments. Anyone is good company at a cocktail party. But love is born when we misunderstand one another and make it right, when we cry in the kitchen, when we show up uninvited with magazines and granola bars, in an effort to say, I love you.

Shauna Niequist, Bread & Wine: A Love Letter to Life Around the Table, with Recipes  (via kvtes)

(Source: emotional-algebra, via insomniacways)