“My lips are salty,” Brett (
@goblingoddesss ) muttered wearily as she slouched into the couch holding her oversized latte. “My hands have aged years,” added Maria (
@mariakn__ ) sipping something similar. Anna (
@anna_lisa_wagner ) sat beside me looking equally as exhausted as the rest of us yet at peace holding her small caramel colored pup named Harper. We had just returned to Pahrump, a dinky little desert town, after an excruciatingly glacial sunrise shoot in the salt flats of Death Valley. Dennis, the lone barista, made four warm drinks for each of us, one by one slowly and cheered with us when Brett exclaimed, “We did it, bitches!”
I opened my eyes at exactly 3am that morning. Slightly swollen from makeup worn days prior. Red, itchy, but nonetheless awake. Urgency and the thought of my friends waiting too long pulled me to put pants on, to remember to give a damn about doing hard things. I get lost too often in the space between thought and action where procrastination festers and potential tends to take its last breath.
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Excerpts from my archival writings with
@flesh.five and film photos from my Venice apartment last summer when I was battling severe depression after ending an emotionally tumultuous relationship. What a difference a year makes. Grateful to be where I’m at now and making memories with the incredible humans in my life.
