There is a place that is ours, where we are integers. A place that is soul and home where we recognize ourselves. A place that can be a beach or a field, the sunset or the moonlight, a place that is who you are when you are together even at no place at all.
From one place to another the tangles of life as open roads where by chance, not more than by chance, we found a new way to love.
Friends are the family we choose when in no way we could ever choose our family. A kind of blessing that validates the way, a new place where we are always who we are.
Because we are always us within us but we are much more who we are when we are among ours.
We are not the kind of people who have friends out of sight, but friends counted by the fingers of one hand. In the certainty that each finger matters in their casual individuality, but that there are stories that make much more sense together.
So we photograph ours, the best ones, amazed before all this that we can't describe but which gets into the spine and is released in sigh.
Thank you for letting us be part of your place, shamelessly invading ours.
Your story and ours, in a low tide of stranded boats, of anchors thrown overboard holding us on to the places where we are happy.
(sigh)
You at our eyes, like so:
