I think of her whenever I find myself caught in the cold without a coat, a shiver in my lips that reminds me of how my hands would tremble at her touch. I will always think of her, her memory forever on the tip of my tongue like a secret I dare not speak. She will always be inside of me; the thought of her will always burn like a star on the brink of nova trapped inside my chest.
Photography by Abigail Saturday
You were hoping that time would smooth the edges, as if what we had was shattered glass that could be quietly swept away. But I knew even then that no amount of distance would soften how I felt about you. To me, your absence would be a page torn from a book. The moment I saw you again, it would be as though we never parted. Our story wasn’t one that would fizzle out or be forgotten, only bookmarked and tucked on the back of a shelf.
Photography by Scott Rust
Being beside you, I captured a feeling- helium hearts in a room with no ceiling.
Photography by Abigail Saturday
I’ll remember your smile for all that it is, beautiful and blinding, a sunspot behind my eyes. I’ll keep the days we had like a book on my bedside table, a story half told, a sentence hanging on bittersweet hope
Photography by Abigail Saturday
In that moment, I was nothing more than a fish on a hook, teeth clenched around treacherous bait, hoping to get a glimpse of the stars.
Photography by Abigail Saturday
Icarus understood, that it is better to be burned by the sun than to never know the feeling of a soul on fire.
Photography by Abigail Saturday
I realized that I was alone, not because I was without love or support, but because I was not who I thought I was. I was not who I wanted to be. I was a stranger, trapped in skin that no longer fit. I was alone because I did not know myself; and therefore, knew no one at all.
Photography by Scott Rust
This is my letter to all the ex-lovers who said I looked best in red.
Photography by Forrest Stinson
I think you’re scared, not because you think you’d fail. But because you’d succeed. You’d rattle the stars, and it scares you that the sky might not be as beautiful once it’s in your grasp.
Photography by Morgan Root
Your name still makes me shiver, the thought of you still tender as a bruise.
Photography by Abigail Saturday
