A marriage is a homunculus, a weird little clay thing you make and breathe hope and love and plans into. Not a divine thing, like something born or germinated is, but still with the need to be fed and nurtured and sustained, because death is possible, even for that which is imbued not born.

Craft and shape, in passion, in leisure, with care and artistry, with inspiration, before your vows animate it, because if you must destroy what you make, even a beautiful, poignant thing that is not living claims you less.

And like a child, it will need you early most, but intensely, sporadically in years to come, and you will invest in it, support and sustain, until one day, it will carry you through, and this strange thing you created and protected is strong enough to return the service, will survive and bring the two of you across in its arms.

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