A century from now, perhaps a million miles from where I rest my bones, I hope someone will see these pages and wonder if the soul they’ve been searching for is mine.
Photography by Boris Mirkin
A century from now, perhaps a million miles from where I rest my bones, I hope someone will see these pages and wonder if the soul they’ve been searching for is mine.
Photography by Boris Mirkin
How strange it was, to be drowning when there was no water for miles and miles and miles.
Self-portrait
Photography by Abigail Saturday
Born of the meadow, dancing with the trees.
Child of the flower, swaying with the breeze.
Photography by Abigail Saturday
She was made of things that were hard to name- Sunday morning and the smell before rain. To let her in would be to catch an eclipse- solar flares and the feel of soft lips.
Photography by Abigail Saturday
Photography by Boris Mirkin
Photography by Scott Rust
I didn’t want people to like me. I wanted people to like themselves when I was around. And there was a huge difference.
Photography by Boris Mirkin
Photography by Forrest Stinson
Photography by Richard Andrews