the past few weeks



I was working on something else when Brendan said the sky was a pretty color. Little did he know (or perhaps he did; since he knows me so well), that this small comment would turn into one of those "keepers" moments. As soon as I saw the moon I grabbed my camera and his hand and we ran (carefully) to the roof to catch the last bits. I don't remember what we talked about, but I know we laughed. This happened sometime in September or October - I have no idea - time has just been going . so . quickly.

Lately, we've been walking the bridge. The first night was magical. I remember the shakiness of the bridge and the warmth of our two hands squeezed in one pocket. It was foggy that evening and there was a full moon. The sky was nearly the same color as the bridge making it seem like we were walking towards a looming monster. Halfway on the bridge, I stopped and gave Brendan a giant bear hug - the kind where you almost knock someone over. I explained that my hug was "squeezing that moment into my memory"; meaning it was something I never wanted to forget.

The thing is, I might.

Because these new experiences and these magical moments continue in a way where they become routine. I do not mean this in a negative way, but I'm really feeling into the fact that change is the only constant -- and that it doesn't always equal loss.

**pictured: That sunset | an awesome dance party with two of my favorite people that ended with sparklers! | morning rays | a boat-ride upstate to Oktoberfest where the food was, unfortunately, unforgettably horrible. | friends, friends, friends.