I used to always leave the camera at the side of our bed.
I would photograph her in the morning hours when she was still asleep in the soft rays of sun that shone through our windows. The mechanical noise of the camera shutter would wake her up.
She was my first girl and my first love.
Warm sunlight would shine in through frost coated windows on soft skin, swollen eyes and puffy lips. I spent endless hours gazing at her slithe body, tracing fingers across a limb and watching the goose bumps rise. I would count the birthmarks on her back and memorize the patterns like star signs.
Mornings were always my favorite time. To wake up oblivious to the world outside, the stress and thoughts of yesterday lost in dreams. After years, she would still be shy about her morning breath. She turned away and would not let me kiss her so I would put my arm around her tiny waist, nuzzling the hairs on her neck with my lips.
I always put too much milk in her coffee, and never enough sugar.
I fetched paper for nose bleeds, bandaged fingers after chopping board accidents and wrapped up a bruised sprained ankle. She hid her pimples under band aids, consequently generating a larger rash due to glue allergies. I laughed at her.
Sometimes I made her cry. I would kiss each tear.
We barely ever fought.
I cleaned the vomit from the floor after she sculled too many beers. She picked me up when I passed out on the toilet, naked with my head in the basin. She scolded me for not washing my make up off but I didn’t care about the dark smudges circling my eyes.
Her favourite food was potatoes and we would cuddle up and watch the L Word together. I loved kissing her in public cause I knew it would make everyone wish they were lesbian. Or wish they were us.
These photos remind me of the fleeting moments spent together. The moments merged to years.
I don’t see her much these days, but I hope she is happy and that her life is filled with new love and many cats.