There was a reading at my wedding from Captain Corelli’s Mandolin which, being honest, I am not sure I entirely got back then. I remember it being a beautiful piece of writing, and apt for a wedding, but I suspect the significance was a little lost on me.
Not today though. Now I understand it. The quiet confidence of love, the peace and security, the sense of fulfilment.
But most of all, it is having someone to share life with, even the mundane stuff. In fact, especially the mundane stuff – that’s what makes it so special.
Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion. That is just being “in love” which any of us can convince ourselves we are. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossom had fallen from our branches we found that we were one tree and not two.
― Louis de Bernières, Captain Corelli’s Mandolin