Tag Archives: relationsihps

Three Little Dresses / Three Little Girls


They’re images of brides whom I know nothing about. The dresses all match the shorter style which is all the hotness right now.

Each represents a type, a common theme.  The beauty queen, the country girl, and the chaste naive.  Some say the dress makes the girl, others say the dress finds the girl. I don’t know what to say, but I wish I knew stories of each of them.

“They’re just models” you say. “There is no story.” But there is I say, “there always is a story.” With beauty queen, why cover the right eye? Sure it could have been a photo shoot decision, but what if the makeup didn’t quite hide the circles, was she up all night partying? Was she up all night studying, and modeling is how she pays for college? I don’t know.

Take country girl.  Would anyone be surprised to find out that she doesn’t where heels that much?  The stance is awkward to say the least, but she may actually really be uncomfortable in those shoes.  The dark eyeshadow makes her all dark and twisty, which further messes with the genre we’re going with here, why a dark and twisty country girl?  Maybe she really is, so the shot was adjusted to fit her personality.

Finally, naive chaste girl.  This wedding dress scares me.  Why the baby blue bow? It feels like a young child is getting sent off to the wolves.  Her eyes are so doughy as to question if she even understands what a marriage is, let alone a lifetime.  The flapper esque dress with the antiqued room, sets the stage for a vintage style wedding, but the girls eyes really bring into question, if she really should get sent off with this groom.  Is that panic? Her fingers grasping hold of the bouquet and skirt to hold on to herself?  Possibly her personality is showing through, and she simply is concentrating that hard on the camera.  In all cases we’ll never know, but the questions will always remain.

Who were these girls, and what were their stories?

Image Credit: weddingomania.com

~Morgan Werhen 2018.

Water Under the Bridge


It started with that faint wisp of moisture, usually so subtle as to be mistaken for a breath, possibly a light breeze against the cheek, but everyone feeling it knows, it’s the rain.
Standing on the bridge I watched the water run its course, swishing and angry moving from one side of the bridge toward the continual swirl on the other.
The wind picked up and I shivered, wrapping my arms around my chest to warm up against the coming storm. Grey colors swirled above as the water rushed below.  I stared off at the leaves and branches, they swayed in unison, mocking the weather, laughing at me.  Why was I here?
“We have to talk.” I told him on the phone earlier. He was bothered by something, it was almost as if he knew already. “Meet me at our bridge” I stated, though, my voice lacked the confidence of my tone. The single tear escaped me then, but I held true through the conversation.  “I’ll be a little late, I have to stop at work for a thing” he responds, his voice trails off earlier than it should have.  “I’ll be there” he says finally.
“I’m here” I think, as I feel another dusting of moisture. Looking at my feet ( why am I barefoot? ) I ask myself. I see some moisture beading on the deck.  Lacking the will to give up, I decide to stay.
He did have to stop by work that day, there was a meeting, though that wasn’t the reason he was there.  Too many missed deadlines, too many mistakes.  Today he was simply picking up his ‘stuff.’ Though, initially he had planned on continuing on. There wasn’t much reason to stay.
“Meet at the bridge” she said, why did she sound so sad?  The breakup had been mutual, both had felt the relationship wasn’t enough to keep them together.
The weather picked up around him as he left his office, rain began dancing and mincing across the road.
She stood while the water fell from the angry sky, it first flattened her hair, working it’s way through her dress and eventually into her skin, soaking her to the point she slid slowly down the railing and sat on the decking. Her foot barely able to hold her knees while looking for something to grip.
He didn’t realize how little traction he had after accelerating onto the highway.  Though, he should have.  No one would have believed the story that he lost control in the rain. Though, his mind was racing, faster then his response time to the weather surrounding his mind.
Three weeks ago, the week before they broke it off.  They fought about direction, was the relationship swirling out of control? Where were they going she asked?
That night.
His eyes widened when he realized both the reason for the meeting and that the rear wheels were not going to hold on to the corner, the river in the road took his life for a final ride.
Waiting for her man on the bridge, the rains poured.  The wind whipped around her, She cried realizing he wasn’t coming.
I’m pregnant she said to herself, and looked up toward the sky as the rain continued to pour.
~Morgan Werhen
Image Credit: chobirdokan.com

For as long as we both shall live

I heard her voice at the edge of the room, we’d kept our promises to each other about today. I’m sure her maids of honor, and subsequent family were helping her preen.  Her voice escaping from the other excited sounds in the room sounds happy and quiet at the same time. I’m standing here in the hallway, tux fits, shoes hurt, ready to take the biggest step of my life. She cried last night, long sad tears streaming down her cheeks.  The day, now here feels less anticipation but small hurt.

We both drove in separately this morning.  The church opening its doors as one accepting us as we were.
I just need to see her, though, not see, just touch her, let her know that everything is okay.  Today I know she is radiant, excited, nervous, but also so beautiful.
The room she enlivens is suddenly quiet, I lean on her closed door, back against the glass. I suddenly hear and feel the knob slowly turn.
“I can’t see you” I say, the door slowly pushes towards me. My feet stepping slowly with the movement to allow the door to open. At this point it feels like we’re the only two here.  The door separating our lives, but allowing us to feel together.  I slowly move my left hand toward the edge of the wood slab, fingers expectant for her, any part of her.  “I’m here” I think “I’ll never leave you” I whisper. My hand reaches beyond the edge of the door, turning toward her.  I feel her breathe, while waiting for something.  Not looking, but hoping.  The tip of her finger floated passes by, searching.  I open my hand, guaranteeing a life boat to reach the next time she moves toward me.
As her hand moves back up, I grab hold. We hold hands silently for an age, a time, long enough. “I love you” she says, “I need you.”  “I will never leave you behind,” I say, “I love you”, listening to her breath slightly quicken.
We stand there a moment longer, staring away but standing together.  My bride, my love, here with me. For as long as we both shall live.
Image Credit: Junebugweddings.com