When I was little, I didn't really notice how precious time was. You take a breath and a moment is gone. You wake up and a person is no longer there.
Which is why I love the permanence of things. Although people leave our lives and moments pass, nothing in the universe can take away the moments that already happened. The moments which already exist continue into the future because they will never have not happened. In that way, our loved ones quite literally "are never gone." Our time together, while it may have been cut short in the string of time we call life, is itself infinite. We determine the importance of people in our life not by how much time we get to spend with them but by what their presence means to us.
It makes me reflect on the string of moments that I live every day. Some of them, I wish, would cease to exist. The moments of doubt or selfishness, the time spent on silly goals, the words that weren't kind falling out of my mouth as if they had an agenda of their own. One of the most graceful parts of reality must be that we can erase those moments, if but only from our conscience and the rememberance of God.
In the meantime, I am trying to record the moments I cherish. The ones that seem to matter more, however subjective they may be. If each moment were an infinite strand, perhaps a moment that is told about becomes a beautifully woven string of multiple strands. Instances of the same spot in time start their own infinity. That's what I'm hoping for as Boricua and I begin to record our moments in something other than our heads.
The collection of moments photographed here are found walking along a trail at El Faro de Cabo Rojo. We went there inbetween graduation festivities, in search of an arch that we had never heard about! We haven't been to Moab together (YET), but at least we go searching for arches.
El Faro de Cabo Rojo is special to us as it reminds us of that moment in time where in the same physical space, Boricua asked me to share infinity with him. As the sun left that evening, two sources of light replaced it - the lightning which started crashing into the dark ocean, and the light of the lighthouse that began swiveling to meet it.
Over a year-and-a-half later, we found ourselves celebrating our anniversary as we followed the trail - both of us absorbed in the crashing of the teal blue ocean against the cliffs, our new camera, and the wonder at how quickly time had passed. We found a fossilized coral, already being worn down into its eventual existence as particles of sand.
I feel as if in that moment we got to step out of normal time, our existence intersecting with something that in the physical world ceased to "exist" in the living sense many years ago. It reminds me of the fleeting moments that will last forever. Like being by the ocean, with my husband. ;)