I’ve always lived loud. Punk rock raised me — noisy garages, battered amps, school halls packed with sweat, feedback, and freedom. 🎶🤘 Music taught me how to be honest, how to stand my ground, and how to never apologize for who I am. Back then, I thought rebellion meant volume. I didn’t know it would eventually mean love.
Sarah was there from the beginning. A woman with Down syndrome, standing front row at every show, singing every lyric, cheering louder than anyone else in the room. While others came and went, Sarah stayed. She believed in the music. She believed in me. And over time, I realized she believed in us long before I did 💫.
When we told people we wanted to get married, the doubts came fast. They said life would be too complicated. That love like ours wouldn’t survive “the real world.” Some spoke with concern, others with quiet judgment. They didn’t see what we saw — the way we balanced each other, the way love showed up in the smallest moments ❤️.
So we got married anyway. 💍
Not to prove anything.
Not to be brave.
But because love was already there — steady, patient, real.
Today, our life isn’t loud like the old days. It’s calmer, kinder, and deeper. Sarah brings warmth and gentleness into our home. She reminds me to slow down, to notice the good, to choose kindness even when the world feels heavy 🌱. I handle the things she doesn’t like. She handles the things that scare me without even realizing it. We take care of each other — not perfectly, but honestly.
Our love doesn’t look like a movie. It looks like shared routines, inside jokes, music playing softly in the background, and laughter after hard days 🏡✨. It looks like partnership. Like respect. Like showing up, every single day.
Years have passed. The music is still there. So is the love.
And if there’s one thing punk rock taught me that still holds true, it’s this:
Real love doesn’t ask for approval.
It doesn’t need permission.
It just needs courage — and the choice to stay 🎸💖.