The weavers probably wove their own stories into the gold threads that embroider this deep red silk cloth in hopes to adorn a beautiful bride full of love and hope. In fifteen years, these yards chose to weave their own tales that are now hidden behind its each crease and fold. The red is richer, the gold brighter, and more beautiful than ever before.
I gently take her in my arms. She feels heavy, pregnant with the weight of being with me all these years. Remembering our first night together wrapped tightly around my body, covering all its imperfections and fears to the stark contrast of being stripped and being exposed, confused and sad, mortified and angry.
I unfold her and throw her up in the air. After all this time, she finally breathes. Wonders if I want to be captive again in her twists and turns that transform my body from what it truly is, to a divine ornament for someone else, to be peeled off and disregarded again.
Not this time. Not anymore. She is her own being as am I. And as we spend an afternoon together in conversation, tears, and laughter, I realize my journey has not ended. My stories are yet to be written. To be weaved into the cloth that will now follow each curve of my body, to protect and to free what is inevitably mine.
A huge thanks to my dearest friend and amazingly talented photographer, Michelle McDaid from Memories by Michelle, for joining me in this tête-à-tête and documenting this so perfectly. What an honor to be the first person to be featured in her Butterfly Project. You can read more about it here.