I promise to love you in sickness and in health, but not as long as we both shall live. Life is long and love changes, and if ours happens to one day pour out of the window in a summer storm, then I will have the grace to let it go.
I will not promise to love your faults, because I am a romantic, but I am not a fool.
I cannot promise to always be patient and calm and kind – my temper is quick and my fuse is short, and I do not ask you to love these things. I will promise, though, that I will try always to be brave and to gather up my cinders with humility, and with honest, sweet words. Flowers blossom after the fire, and I will bloom fiercely in my love.
Dear love, I am frightened, for I do not know what the future will bring. But I will kiss you in the mornings and in the evenings and through the night-times, and as long as I can make it good, I will.