Last month I had the privilege of shooting an engagement shoot for my good friend Brian and his fiance Jeromy. I have never seen two people who compliment each other so perfectly, in style and personality.
He was the son. And I was only the daughter in a world where that still makes a difference.
I was the wild one who wept and tore at my hair. I was the one who slept with boys I shouldn’t, just because I couldn’t have the boy I wanted.
He was the one who taught me to believe in God and whiskey and Cash. But he was the one who drank too much in a world where we all drank too much.
When I asked him to hold my hand he lit a marlboro instead.
Our love is not the love of the sun, of the midday hour. It is not the love of lunch dates and coffee shops.
It is the love of midnight walks, of whiskey and smoke. Of desert bonfires and shared cigarettes.
Each day the night falls and I hear those ancient echoes of dirty jokes and sacred secrets.
I feel the glow of the street lamps. I see that summer moon that was our only witness.
The fragile luminosity disappeared with the first rays of the sun. It was fractured by the high noon.
And though I have dreaded the dawn, I stand straight.
And I stand alone.