On December 28th, 2014 I wrote a letter to my love and it starts with I love you.

  I began writing to you the moment I believed with all of my heart that you existed. I feared for so long that this love shaped hole that stayed vacant would never be filled. I have dreamt a million times about the free fall at the alter, the look of disbelief that rest on my brow. Your presence, not required but craved.

  I read this quote once. It told me that everything would make sense with time, and everything happens for a reason. Most of the time, I catch myself doubting, praying for another season to weather the edges of this life time. Continuing this human experience not yet full but somehow old. I’m a soul full of patchwork and stitching. Holding myself together by the love of the idea of LOVE.

  L-O-V-E, these letters of torture fall like bricks in water. Heavy and quick to cause any sort of…effect. Your face sometimes flashes in my memories. This life time has led us to and from each other. Close but still somehow separate but still somehow one.

  Your finger tips have danced on the small of my back. I have felt you. We have crossed paths in the world of dreams, where reality is relative, perfection is subject to perspective, and where hands are handled without strain. We love.

  In the right place, we will emerge with beauty and grace. Tainted by the crossroads of failure, over and over again. One day life will make sense in your arms. I’ll climb the tallest tree and shout “I LOVE YOU” because all that exists is your net of care to catch me when I leap. When I think about our connection, I imagine diamonds.

  Shining loud.  A presence that cannot be ignored. A partnership that cannot be forged. A companion that cannot be made up. A team that cannot be broken.

  My mind has never made sense to myself, so you can imagine my trouble when I attempt to explain just how complicated I am. I left my baggage in 2011, but that doesn’t mean I don’t carry the scars. Patience is the key to my diseased heart.

  I have dreamed that you make me feel simple. Not complex, twisted, confused…just simple.

I miss your touch.

xxi

Capturing the Perfect Shot.