I’m the photographer. I live through my lens. You refuse to let me continue my lone discoveries of you, but I know that secretly, you want to look back within these moments. So you don’t fight me. Instead, you carry on, with your plans, your dreams, this magical moment. Where you know that he wants to hold you, and that you accept it. Where you reach for his waist and are not sure what to do next, because you don’t really care that people are watching you except for me. You keep fighting between those awkward poses and just being in the moment. But yet, my reminder of “don’t pose” hasn’t fully sunk in. I can’t live in the moment; I’ve tried, and I’ve failed. Instead, I’m living within yours. To celebrate with you, remind you of who you are. To show you how free you are, how lucky you are to have someone who understands you. Who will fight against you. Who will question everything that you believe and whether you know what exactly it is you want. Are you who you want to be? Or must I show you this again, in two and a half years, when you push me away, because I reminded you of this, how happy you were?