Unaltering Love–Happy Birthday Ruth
by MW Cook
Sonnet 116 William Shakespeare
Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments.
They say that you tend to be with someone similar to yourself. I suppose it’s true most of the time. We’re pretty narcissistic people, so we seek ourselves in the people we love.
Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove:
They say unless two agree, they cannot walk together. And that if they start to disagree, they probably are going to have to go off in different directions. Alteration, they imply, alters love.
O, no! It is an ever-fixed mark, that looks on tempests and is never shaken;
Ruth and I have changed. A lot. I’m not the person she married. I have different goals, different convictions, a different sense of morality. Different ways to love.
It is the star to every wandering bark, who's worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
We change each other and change by each other’s changes. Our love isn’t based on our personality traits. The thing that holds us together is not ourselves. It’s a kind of transcendent love.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks within his bending sickle's compass come;
For about 123 days of the summer, Ruth and I are the same age. Tomorrow she’s older than me again. We’re in the midst of so much change, but we still love.
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
It does not matter how much we grow. It doesn’t matter how much we change. It doesn’t matter that we aren’t the people we married. Love that alters with alteration is not our kind of love.
If this be error, and upon me prov'd I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
Happy birthday Ruth. I love you forever.