Journal entry : 2
12/5/18
As the gf is upstairs in the bathroom, prepping for the wedding we're invited to, I find myself with a few moments to spare. I don't expect this blog to become something daily. But it's a nice start none the less.
The wedding we're going to is one of my cousin, Cara, and her soon to be husband Stijn. Cara is of the same age as me. She and her soon to be hubby moved in together a few years back in a lovely little house. They were soon blessed with an adorable son. Personally, the need to get married after living together and having a child is nowadays lost on me. I always wanted to get married. (Not in a church, obviously. I'm afraid I'd spontaneously combust.) But now... I don't know. I'm content with the way things are. Perhaps in a few years, I'll have swung back around again.
It's strange, to think Cara has a child and is getting married. Here my gf and I are in our new house. My sister bought an appartment last year too. My brother has just been through a first, and hopefully only, divorce. But with Cara, it hits me especially. We are only a few months apart, after all.
It seems like a blink of an eye that we were little kids, performing songs and acts for our aunts and uncles and grandparents, at christmass, Sinterklaas and New Years. And now, with some luck, their son will grow up doing the same. They were some of my fondest childhood memories.
Anyway, enough of that sentimental mush. I was reminded, by the wedding, that I'd written a poem about one, once.
Here's to hoping it's not applicable to Cara and Stijn.
Customs
A fresh day's born in the charismatic Kentucky.
As the bells toll, my nerves bug me for a while
I'm feeling a lot more natious than I do lucky
when the woman in white walks down the aisle.
The chapel's filled with relatives of one side.
With the sunlight breaking through the colored glass,
on her face it shines she seems a lovely bride.
Tears of joy cross her cheeks as she listens to mass.
Suppose this is a day for the joyfull, not the sad
as she smiles, as soon as I put on her rural ring.
I give the South all the passion my lips ever had,
because the bride brought a shotgun to the wedding.
12/5/18
As the gf is upstairs in the bathroom, prepping for the wedding we're invited to, I find myself with a few moments to spare. I don't expect this blog to become something daily. But it's a nice start none the less.
The wedding we're going to is one of my cousin, Cara, and her soon to be husband Stijn. Cara is of the same age as me. She and her soon to be hubby moved in together a few years back in a lovely little house. They were soon blessed with an adorable son. Personally, the need to get married after living together and having a child is nowadays lost on me. I always wanted to get married. (Not in a church, obviously. I'm afraid I'd spontaneously combust.) But now... I don't know. I'm content with the way things are. Perhaps in a few years, I'll have swung back around again.
It's strange, to think Cara has a child and is getting married. Here my gf and I are in our new house. My sister bought an appartment last year too. My brother has just been through a first, and hopefully only, divorce. But with Cara, it hits me especially. We are only a few months apart, after all.
It seems like a blink of an eye that we were little kids, performing songs and acts for our aunts and uncles and grandparents, at christmass, Sinterklaas and New Years. And now, with some luck, their son will grow up doing the same. They were some of my fondest childhood memories.
Anyway, enough of that sentimental mush. I was reminded, by the wedding, that I'd written a poem about one, once.
Here's to hoping it's not applicable to Cara and Stijn.
Customs
A fresh day's born in the charismatic Kentucky.
As the bells toll, my nerves bug me for a while
I'm feeling a lot more natious than I do lucky
when the woman in white walks down the aisle.
The chapel's filled with relatives of one side.
With the sunlight breaking through the colored glass,
on her face it shines she seems a lovely bride.
Tears of joy cross her cheeks as she listens to mass.
Suppose this is a day for the joyfull, not the sad
as she smiles, as soon as I put on her rural ring.
I give the South all the passion my lips ever had,
because the bride brought a shotgun to the wedding.
"If we go down, we go down together!"
- Your mum, last night, suggesting 69.
![[Image: 41bebac06973488da2b0740b6ac37538.jpg]](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/41/be/ba/41bebac06973488da2b0740b6ac37538.jpg)
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- Your mum, last night, suggesting 69.
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