A shared love for Portland brings family & friends from across the country. A dress that has been passed down through three generations. Thoughtful little touches from bride to groom, groom to bride. A ceremony crafted so carefully it creates shivers and raises the skin. In the rose gardens. Running to, running through the forest, dark pathways to intertwine ourselves. Gravitational bonds paired with childlike bubbles bursting at the seams. Trading the wild forest for the curated garden for dinner and wine with those who give our lives meaning. Spilled tears, without spilled wine. Chatting the night away over ice cream under soft light.

It was unseasonably hot for this late spring, early summer day in the Pacific Northwest. It felt like we should have been hearing a soundtrack of cicadas to match the heat that promised to weigh on us. Instead, sunlight streamed through the windows in a quiet stillness, chilled by an apprehensive energy for the events ahead of us.

Whispers on the water, but it's just the wind as it meets the leaves.

Footsteps haven't left a trace, but I know where we've been. Wanting without warning, we don't need one. In the darkness of fall, this intimacy is ours. I'm okay with not seeing another soul today, because all I need is yours. Given without hesitation now, although it wasn't always this way.

I'm wondering if it's as fleeting, or as everlasting, as whispers on the water.