An Ever-fixed Mark

Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove.

O no! it is an ever-fixed mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken

-William Shakespeare, Sonnet 116

Covers tangle around my legs. I've stolen them again. It's an even trade though, in my mind, because he's sprawled across the entire expanse of the bed like a starfish. And his snores emulate a freight train rumbling down the track.

The diamond from the aged ring on my left hand catches the light as I softly smooth his greying hair back from his forehead. It needs to be cut, but we haven't found time. We don't often get quiet moments like this one I am currently reveling in.

Who would have thought the "worse" part of "for better or worse" could be so thoroughly tested over all these years. But we passed every test, and here we are. He is my rock and I am his anchor. The storms have come, but we have always prevailed.

It would appear that true love really does conquer all. And a love like ours is the truest kind, and we will never be shaken.