Third-person

Do you ever feel like you grew up in third person? Were you always hyper aware of your every movement, fixing your hair or adjusting your stature? Did you spend your youth in a constant out of body experience, as if you were the star of a show you never asked to be in? Were you ever vigilant in how others perceived you? Was there an oppressive need to be perfect, to make the audience fall in love with you? Does society know that it taught so many of us to believe our ability to be desirable directly correlates to our worth?

Self-portrait

December

You stole my heart the way December did the colors from the trees.

Photography by Abigail Saturday

Secret

She spoke it like a secret, but she gave the words to everyone she met. Life’s too short, our time too brief to waste a moment on regret. And it’s true, some mountains won’t move. But the long way around offers such a beautiful view. So chase what you want and say what you feel, because the moment is now, the song of your heart the only sound that’s real.

Photography by Abigail Saturday

Caricature

I saw my reflection in your eyes. But it wasn’t me, not really. It was the best version of me, high on a pedestal, with all my rough edges rounded and soft. I was not me at all; but rather, I was the me you wanted me to be, a flawless, rosy cheeked, love-soaked caricature of myself.

Self-portrait

Sync

I hated you. I hated you until my chest creaked under the weight of my heavy heart. I hated you until my throat was so tight I could barely speak your name. But the truth is, I didn't hate you at all. I loved you more fiercely than I've ever loved anything; and I hated that there was nowhere for that love to go, not because it was unrequited, but because our stories were never quite in sync.

Photography by Abigail Saturday