Golden hour glowin’ ✨ Feeling soft and cozy in my favorite oversized sweater today – like weasels always do! A little bit of rain outside, perfect forgin our own world inside. Loving these simple mome...

“Here comes the sound,” she always said. Not your sound exactly, not anymore. More like the echo of one. The clink of ice in the glass, for instance – ours, probably, though hasn’t been touched in ages. Feels odd to say that out loud, doesn’t it? Like admitting something obvious, but afraid to name it.

We haven’t named much lately, really. Just these subtle shifts in posture, haven’t we? A slight turn of the chin, like that, isn’t it? Right here. Watching us. It feels… expected, somehow. Less daunting than last time. Last time felt more like an interrogation.

These boots aren’t bad, actually. Leather, worn smooth by years of walking away, or maybe staying put. They don’t shout too loudly about the distance, which is good. We prefer quiet usually, don't we? A comfortable kind of quiet, after all the shouting stopped. Though there was plenty of that, wasn’t there?

That crease in the silk skirt—did you notice that? From when you brushed past yesterday, back into the room. Barely grazed, of course. Never did, really. Too polite to fight. Except with ourselves sometimes.

It', so long ago since he left... Well, almost. Isn't that right? That hint of melancholy in the way the light catches your hair today, the hesitant smile playing around your lips. Maybe you thought we liked it here. Maybe you remembered the scent of her perfume.

Now then, look at us.”

What do you think? How would you like us to refine it? Let’s know if you want to focus on a particular detail of the photo! 💫

Would you like us to imagine who “you” were? The long lost love, the photographer...? Let us know!