Her Photograph

Like a thick, clear lacquer, the paper shone, crisp from the printer, and pasted so perfectly tilted on the wall.

But that's not the part that mattered. She was standing there among the forage, feet bare and shoulders reddening from the blistering yet soothing sun. Her legs were starting to itch and her dress was catching on every other leaf and stray thorn.

The snags left behind just resembled the unkemptness of her hair, the wind performing a tantalizing tale with the golden locks. Tangled into a natural monstrosity of a braid, her pick comb fingers plucked the strands like a harp, her yelps of pain sprouting laughter in her companion- to whom she then glared at.

Her cheeks were stiff from smiling, and a light sheen of sweat gathered on the bridge of her collar bone, down the ridge of her spine; yet her thighs were chilled by the playful breeze, wafting beneath her skirts. The sun was blinding, eliminating the need for a flash, but not squinting was almost impossible.

In a rush she twirled in anticipation, flustered and ready for a dripping orange and cream popsicle to enter her drooling mouth, cool on this summer day. But, this companion of hers just couldn't get it quite right so, tired of waiting, she started at him, his camera lens clicking away.

Flinging her arms around his torso and barreling him into the ground, the perfect frame was captured so effortlessly when she pecked him on the lips. Flushed cheeks, and pink lips like spring roses, damp from her tongue lining them in saliva. The scene was complete when in unison, though the picture couldn't hold the sound, they spoke a few common but meaningful words.

"I love you."