Closer than a wedding vow

“If we do this,” he says to me, as serious as I’ve ever seen him, “you have to promise never to leave me.  It would break my heart to lose this.”

I have promised to become his wife.  Really, in all the ways that matter, I am already his wife.  We share everything – more, even than many people share with their spouses.  Including this, which, to him, is more powerful than a wedding vow.  “I promise,” I tell him.

I am serious, too, because it would break my heart to lose any of this, the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

What we are talking about is a shared fiction universe.  I haven’t written much original fiction, but one of the worlds I have worked on is an end-of-the-world story about incarnated angels called Wingspan.

It is last March, and we are on vacation.  We are driving up the California coast, following the Pacific Coast Highway, enjoying the scenery and each other, and discussing stories.  It is here that we realize that our stories, developed independently, fit neatly alongside each other.  Things I address in my world explain things that have happened in his, and vice versa.  I joke that clearly we share a brain.

Not much becomes of that conversation; I am still burned out from NaNoWriMo ’09, and I’m not up to thinking about much.  It is a pleasant exercise, nothing more.

Now, I am much less burned out.  My creative muscles are being exercised once more, and when I see an announcement on Dreamwidth for a community that challenges you to tell 100 short stories in the same original universe, I am interested enough to mention it to him.

“Would you like to work on it together?” he asks.  This is last night.  The idea charms me; I don’t know that I have the stamina to write 100 short pieces in the same universe.  I am afraid to sign up, lest I get stuck, or feel the burden hanging over my head.  I agree.  He likes it when I write.  I like it when he writes.  This way, we can encourage each other.

This is when he turns to me and asks me to promise that I will never leave him.

When you enter a relationship, you begin building something together.  Sometimes it’s literal, usually it’s metaphorical.  You’re building a relationship, a life, a family.  You build a household, a sense of unity, love.  But he and I, we are makers.  I make things – socks, gloves, scarves.  Each stitch is a gesture of my love for him.  He tells me stories; hammers steel into tongs and coat hooks and spoons; builds safety and comfort and caring.  We have created a foundation, on which we will build an entire universe.

“Urban fantasy homesteading,” he calls it, laughing.  “We’re building a self-sufficient fictional lifestyle.”

He gives it a name and builds it a place, because that is what he does.

We promise, solemnly, to build a world together.

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~ by Amber on March 1, 2011.

2 Responses to “Closer than a wedding vow”

  1. <3.

  2. I know that feeling well.

    ❤ You two are also ridiculously adorable.

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