I've been spending more time with photography lately. Inside of museums and bookstores. Standing next to B's tripod while he crops his perfect shot. In telephone conversations that spill out chaotically just before bed. In gifts that I buy and in letters that I write. Examining slides one by one. Dishing out tiny encouragements in the form of notes and phrases and postcards.

And in all this time, throughout all of these actions, the part of photography that's been simmering inside of me more than any other, is this one simple little term: negative.

As humans, we often bubble over with insecurities and swim inside of the darkest clouds-- and there is seemingly no better target for this negativity than in relationships. We move from the unrest of requited feelings to the anxiety of commitment. As much as we'd like to deny it, we dwell too long on arguments, avidly search out flaws, carefully scrutinize tastes and opinions, and find ourselves up at 3am-- denied peaceful sleep-- obsessing over how we can call ourselves "in love" with someone who has never read our favorite book or seen our favorite movie. We often encounter situations that rattle our bearings and sometimes events that shake our very foundations-- and we are all-too aware of the precious trust we had invested only now because we find it desperately missing. And then when we do muster the heroic strength to trust our partner, then we often don't trust ourselves. Our perception and judgement become distorted like funhouse mirrors, up for constant interpretation-- revising and revising and revising what the future truly holds through many more sleepless nights.

Not too long ago I was sitting with Amy at her Mom's kitchen table and we were talking about relationships. We were opening up our treasure chests of gripes and insecurities and fears, cataloguing each frustration to empathetic ears and soothing support. But then we both suddenly stopped in a moment of simultaneous epiphany. I can't remember the words that were shared, yet the sentiment still rings in my ears: there is a gleaming bottom line that outshines any and all flaws. Like a solid voice of truth deep down inside that tells you that he's the one. And that he's worth it.

Which brings me back to photography and the sticking idea of the negative-- the simple little thought that comforts me so. This idea that all of these moments of doubt that we can't help but to knit up inside of ourselves and our partners and the entity of "us"-- these negatives, if you will-- are just the opposite of reality. They may just be stepping stones-- part of a larger process to create personal reminders of the comfortable truth of love.

I still have negatives-- but I find myself immunized against their danger by even the smallest tokens of reality: a pop-up book of Paris, a sleepy, morning phone call with a whispery voice, teasing laughter, Le Vie en Rose, the promise of a kitchen tango. For these things seem like the magic bits that truly matter.

And just a fraction of the things that draw my valentine so deep inside my heart.

Happy Valentine's Day, B.