Each and Every Day

When he asked for her hand in marriage, he did not put a ring on her finger.
Rather, he picked a sunflower from his garden and placed it in her hand.
Her inquisitive glance was enough to make him say,
"I did not buy you a diamond ring, with the most karats and greatest shine,
simply because a circle represents eternity
and a ring on your finger declares you mine.
Instead I will pick you a sunflower each night for all of time.
No matter what day and what problems may arise,
there will be a moment where I have solely you in my mind.
So there is no precious gemstone to solidify our love
but instead my thoughts dedicated to the ever-present us,
and a sunflower that I can only hope you will take,
accepting that my love for you is a part of each and every day"

Ocean Sky Denim Eyes

His eyes are the ocean when it collides with the cliffs.
They are the sky that no birds fly in.
They are the worn denim in the thrift shop.
They are all those kinds of blue,
with cracks shooting out of the center
from all the times the world broke his point of view.

He told me, "Boys cry. Just as much as the girls."
So I watched him, with his ocean sky denim eyes
and his hands shaking like his veins are fault lines.
And I saw the pain from the war and the shame.
The men he saw die by the bullets he made fly,
and the home he saw wrecked by the rum on his breath.

"You're makin it just fine sweetie pie,"
he said as he looked straight into my eyes.
But it was at that moment he realized
that mine were the same kind of blue.
I wondered if he would take back what he said now that he knew.

I have five photographs hanging on my wall. I chose them deliberately. Not once has someone asked me why.
The first is when the fog moved like water through the hills with delicate elegance, graceful enough to be the ocean's tide. I watched it with him. It was the last time he kissed me and meant it.
The second is when I realized that what brings you somewhere isn't always the memory that you leave with in the end. It is the most beautiful sound I will ever hear. It is the colors I haven't seen since.
The third was a gray foggy day somewhere on the coast of the country, a coast I had never seen before.  It was the moment I realized I would be there the following September.
The fourth may look like a picture, but it is not. And I didn't take it. Its a ticket to a show that was more than a show, to see a writer whose words resonate in my bones. It reminds me of New Hampshire.
The fifth was on the road trip back. Where he kept telling me to stop whenever I saw something interesting, even though he was tired of driving. It was when I started loving photography again.
These are not just pretty pictures. These do not just fill empty space on a wall.