Manifest

It is not another story of love. It's your love story. Imperfect, special, different from how you had imagined it and, in reality, much better. And there you are. It's the big day and everyone has come. The people you love. The people who love you. And, of course, as nervous as you, that he or she that has made all this mess worthwhile. And you want me to see you and think exactly that. That it was worth it. But most of all you want me to see you. To you. Not a cold mannequin, not a girl encased in a pompous dress, not the woman your mother or father expects you to be. Only you. In your promised princess version, delicate and light. Or maybe like my girl's beast, defiant, elegant and mischievous... Because yes, you can go as you want. In white and with your leather boots, with braids and a crown of flowers in your hair, with a satin or lace dress, with a bare back, or your nails painted black. It's your day. And the rules are set by you. Or better, you. Because this is a story of two. A story that began with your first 'I love you' and now continues with that 'yes, I do' which, like most good things, is a little scary. But you know that, also as almost always, it is worth the risk.