june fitzpatrick

If she had cold feet, she stuffed them under my legs for warmth like she always did. And I didn’t protest, only wrapping her up tighter with a promising kiss, gazing at her through a black and white lens with my love for her written in stone as I captured her on film in my memory at that exact moment: beautiful, exposed, spirited, alive, with her heart on her sleeve and mine in her hands.
—  x