December 14, 2011

by brittanychavez

The fourteenth was mine and Steele’s 4 year anniversary.

I woke up alone in my own bed and got dressed in a red wool skirt. And when I got to school I felt like I had this little secret (but couldn’t help busting it out and telling people throughout the day.) Four years is a long time. Four years, four years, four years. He surprised me with flowers, and on our break between classes we ran to pick up film.

This film is special and took a long time to get. I loaded a roll into my camera late in the summer and we had the idea to do a multiple exposure roll. I shoot the whole thing through of images of him, and then we rewound it being careful to leave a tail, and reloaded it and he shot the whole roll again of images of me. So these images are spanning a few months, it took a while to finish and finally process, and scanning it was one thing I wanted to do on the fourteenth. At school, where everything I do and make is for something, it feels like food to a starving stomach to make something for myself.

We took the bus downtown and roamed Powell’s, my favorite place, and spent a while drawing silly things in my daily notebook. (We play a game where we both draw the same thing to compare the differences.) And went out to dinner, heavenly good food (I got breakfast for dinner, and he got a chicken pot pie.)

And then went home and curled up and were together. It’s funny how those things, those quiet comfortable normal things, that you do everyday seemingly out of necessity become special sometimes. Like it is absolute necessary to hold hands when you’re walking through the aisles of a bookstore, even though any other day you would do it without thinking.

I will give you something small from a piece of writing I did recently. It feels strange to be posting this, like I should guard it, so I won’t give you the whole thing. I read it out to Steele two days before our anniversary while we were driving back to his house at night, crossing the river, and I cried. I feel like the moment of reading it is more important than what it said. That I could forget these words but never forget my throat feeling thick, the bars of the bridge passing, coming up upon an exit, Portland at night, and the way I had to pause to collect my breath before continuing onto the next paragraph.

I do not understand a love which does not yell. I cannot comprehend this easy light filled thing which you have given to me, do give me everyday.

Now I believe in us. I believe that it is better to have faith in this mysterious thing I do not understand. That there will never be a day I do not want to see your smile. That you will always pull me closer in the night.

But more deeply than that, I believe that you will not leave. And that I will not leave either.

(This last image was put together manually, they were both separate, over exposed and looked like they needed each other.)

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