People say wedding days are perfect, and that is because they are right. I have never been to a not-perfect wedding ever, and in my case I imagined perfect and then found it to be actually even more perfecter times ten. Not only was I getting married (!), but our closest family and dearest of dear friends crossed continents to come and there was sunshine all over the South Downs and lunch in the library and croquet on the lawn and it was in so many ways ridiculous as well as being exactly right. The trouble is that these are facts and details and things, and they are important things but not the essential thing, which is the something deeper that still thrums through my marrow in ways that have not been written yet in fugitive words that slip through my fingers in life's liminal spaces; taking the stairs down to the design department, waiting for the bus to slow at your outstretched hand, the breath between soul-borne bone-shaking laughter over something already entirely forgotten. It is like I have searched happiness of all its synonyms and found language outdone. Words as I have known them no longer hold their weight.
So instead I am looking for new words, and in the interim I will say this straightforwardly: I married John William Morgan in the London Temple of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints at high noon on the eighth of June and it is to this day and counting the very best thing I have ever, ever done or will do.
all photography : dean govier
