pink skies played from the sky every day and we listened like it was the first time, every time, together. i miss the feeling of a warm circle, a communal dinner, and the never ending creaking doors i grew to love. you can photograph a beautiful forest, you can't recreate the sounds of life. these days the silence lets itself in slowly, discreet. the door behind it doesn't creak. by dark it is the loudest thing in the room. i fear the day it no longer makes a sound. i promise myself i will not get used to the presence of absence and all its subtleties in a way that feels like a race. the only unwanted guest. no place at this table, no chance to settle in
from october