This morning was going to be special. Privacy. Absolutely no phones. She read him Hemingway, translating the French. She prepared him a strawberry into a bouquet. Like a sommelier, gently placing each slice on the glass of the organic wine, from that Italian vineyard. But quite unlike any sommelier either of them have ever seen, she now proceeded to dip the fruit in chocolate and slowly toward his lips. All this, and the rest of it went fairly smoothly until he broke out laughing, and went to sleep. She watched his chest for a while. They remembered the mood long, long afterwards. Certain details too. She remembered the French translations. He remembered the strawberries. And her. Happy 1 year ❤️ @embracingmystory 📷 - @hueofbluephotography