At a smaller, more intimate wedding everything else falls away and your attention can go more to each other. The room is not too big, every guest is within reach, and suddenly there is only room for what matters: the two of you and the words you choose for each other.
That is why personal vows do not feel like a nice extra to me, but like something that almost inevitably comes up on the day itself. Just between the two of you.
How I experience this as a photographer
For me that means: waiting and watching from a distance. Being there at the right moment, without disturbing. I stand a few metres away, lens pointed at you. Just like at a proposal. Because I know that the most important thing is not the kiss, or the rings, but that one second in which a sentence lingers, in which a hand holds the paper a little tighter, in which a look lasts longer than planned.
What I see so often
I have seen it so often over the past twenty years. Couples who said at the start: “We’ll keep it short, we’re not really into big speeches.” And then, while writing, you notice that the silence of the past months suddenly fills up with words. Not because it has to, but because finally there is nobody in between to judge it.
A line about how someone always leaves the hall light on because he knows you wake up at night. A promise that starts with “I don’t know exactly how to say this, but…” A memory of a walk in pouring rain when you both came home soaking wet and still laughed. Moments like that.
It does not have to be polished
Those words land differently in a small circle. You hear the voice falter for a moment, see someone look away because it feels too big to say out loud, feel the silence that follows and that nobody dares to break. It is not a show. It is simply truth laid completely bare for a moment.
What I also like so much: it does not have to be polished. It may go wrong, repeat itself, stall. It may even feel a little awkward to say it out loud. That is exactly what makes it human. I have heard vows that stopped halfway because the tears came faster than the words, and that was precisely the most beautiful part.
Afterwards, when I look back at the images, it is often those seconds that stay with me most: a hand trembling slightly while holding the paper, a smile breaking through halfway, a look that lasts longer than planned because there is too much in it to let go straight away.
If you are still in doubt
Most couples are glad afterwards that they did it, even if they found it scary. Not because it was perfect, but because it was real. Because at that moment they saw each other as they are: without a mask, without an audience, without expectations.
So if you are in doubt now, if you think “maybe it’s too much after all”, try this: just begin. Sit down somewhere alone, take a sheet of paper or your phone, and write what comes up. Without crossing out, without correcting. Read it aloud later, as if nobody else is there, because on the day itself, in those few minutes, that is exactly how it feels.
Stefan