Some things are sacred

I've been a bit absent because instead of writing, I've been living.  More than once in the last week, I've asked myself what I would write about what I was experiencing, and there were no words, just feelings. The feeling when you've been trying to hold in a hearty laugh and you think you might just explode because the happiness shouldn't be contained.  The feeling of missing your own family and their quirks and not being there to fight their battles with them- a sadness that weighs.  The feeling of being a part of something bigger, something sacred.  A part of me is selfish- the part that doesn't want to share the details with you because something in me feels that they are mine and need to be held close because any explanation will fall short and cheapen what it was.  The other part says that love is for sharing, not hoarding, because that's not the way it works.

I think this is the way love happens.  It is multiplied until it spills over to fold in anyone within reach.

This photo was taken as we were instructed to be "más sexy."  

We felt welcomed, we felt at home.