[ stanthorpe engagement photographer ]
I have photographed many things, many times. However, photographing myself and my fiancé - now that was a new and very unfamiliar challenge. But, me being the girl I am, decided that I was keen to take myself up on that challenge, and so, away we went.
Shooting my own engagement shoot presented many problems. Lack of angles, lack of fluidity which therefore led to lack of innovation and fresh, creative shots. I had to make up for this by later cropping the images, some very heavily - so please excuse the horrid photo quality on some of them. There was also the lack of light control, and as we didn't have enough time to wait for sunset, I had the added issue of harsh midday light. There was the exhaustion of running to and from the camera, checking if we got "the shot" etc.
However, this post isn't to review my own personal performance; nor is it to explain it's shortcomings and make excuses for it. I know it cannot be as high quality as my clients' shoots, as I am not physically behind my camera. But this is the best I could do.
Really though, this post is about Matt and I. My soon-to-be Eternal Companion. The man I have already devoted my heart, mind, soul, body and soon my spirit to. There can be and will never be question as to why I love him, as there is no plain, simple answer. Only a pure answer - that I love him, because I can't not love him.
There are so many things that I could tell you about him, about us, and our life. Many of you are already familiar with us, and our daily life, and the kind of person he is. Now, let me show you how it feels to be with him, to be in his arms, to have his fingers knotted through my hair as he cradles my head in his strong hands, gently - just as he did the very first time he kissed me - gently, taking his time, over two years ago.
An excerpt, from my novel, describing that night, that moment, that first kiss:
"It’s hard to describe the next series of moments. To define them; put
them into words. On one hand, the memory of them is so sharp and crisp in my
mind. On the other hand, hazy and blurred in a whirl of wet glass and the smell
of grease and metal lingering behind us.
His arm slid behind my back, as I leant in closer against him. I could
feel every muscle in it flex as he gently wrapped his hand around the small of
my waist on my outer side. I found my forehead resting against his jaw; I leant
up and tucked the bridge of my nose into the nape of his neck.
I could smell him. I scent I can’t quite make out. Earthy. Subliminal.
He pulled back and turned to face me - our gaze met no more than a few
inches apart - as I looked up into his most blue eyes. Even in the dim light, I
could paint a lasting picture of them in my head, a picture that stayed with me
always ever since that night. A light brown streak in the bottom of his right
iris. Flecks of grey and sky blue broke up the strong shafts of electric navy
that burst outwards from the centre.
Wolf like.
The tips of our noses touched. The silence was deafening - all but for
the rain on the metal van roof and the sound of my heart pounding - a sound I
was certain he and all the world could hear. I arched my neck slightly and
slowly slid my nose up beside his, gently nuzzling him until our foreheads were
almost touching. I could feel him shaking as much as I was. He swallowed.
Seconds later, I felt the warm tip of his tongue graze the outer corner of my
top lip. I pulled back ever so slightly, just far enough to offer one final
glance. Our eyes met again; his gaze was firm, unwavering, wanting. My bottom
lip trembled, just as I leant in slowly to lightly press my mouth against his.
I felt his entire body rise, with mine. Our lips parted; our gaze met
again. Nothing had changed - he still offered me the same steadfast expression,
softer still. His eyes closed, and brow furrowed, he kissed me back - a long,
warm peck. My body, fingers, mind - everything started numbing and tingling all
at once. Every sensation peaked but nothing seemed to register as reality. He
kissed me again, slow and seething; his lips sliding gently downward as each
following kiss intensified, each firmer and deeper than the last. His mouth was
damp, soft, giving. His breath carried the strong smell of fresh Coke, the cool
sugared taste still on the tip of his tongue, which now gently urged and
caressed my mouth slightly open between another sweet kiss. His fingertips
glided from my chin, up my jaw and to the nape of my neck - where he spread his
hand, timidly lacing his fingers in the roots of my hair.
There was more in his kiss than sensation. There were words, stories,
expressions. Each was different; each showing every part of him. I knew in
those moments, I wasn’t the only one who felt scared and vulnerable. His hands
never made me feel used, cheap. I struggled to control my emotions - I could
feel myself beginning to slip into places I didn’t want to go again - trust, intrigue,
love. He seemed genuine - but I had been wrong so many times, I had been fooled
and played, bought and sold. It was hard to make myself believe that he wasn’t
them - one of them who just wanted his share of the leftovers. I was a mess and
everyone knew it - despite my efforts to appear strong. Was he just another
thrill-seeker getting off on the exploitation of my current state? Was I
willing to take that risk? And yet my heart felt as though it longed to
trust him. While I wanted to believe that this was just light fun, I could tell
this wasn’t about victory or chauvinistic satisfaction to him. This wasn’t
about disconnection or de-sensitizing to me. This was about how he felt, how he
wanted to show me, how I wanted to be with him. I felt entirely safe,
emotionally, physically. Alive. His kisses were never greedy or selfish. Never
demanding or brutal or cruel. Lustful, at times, but never sinful or carnal -
pure and rich with desire for more than just physical pleasures.
A kiss I had never before felt. Kisses that left the rest, all the
others before that night, far behind."
This truly is Our Story.
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