(the unsaid assumptions are wrong. posting photos of past lovers is not pining. is not being nostalgic. if i still wanted the subject of the photos i’d still have the subject of the photos. no one has left me yet. i leave. i read arches and muffled cries and see what’s coming before what comes and i step out of the way. i don’t try to fix it. or change it. i just get out of the way. you can’t fix what was designed to be broken. you can’t pine for something you walked away from. photographers shouldn’t sleep with their models. photographers should stick to adjusting softboxes and leave the hearts and hipbones to the people who specialize in that sort of thing. nothing good can ever come from it unless they die. araki taught us that. if they die you’re golden. the story writes itself. but if you get wise to what’s what and just walk away one day it’s time to burn some negatives or put up with the constant somehow-demeaning insinuation that you are somehow lost or longing. the only thing i’ve lost are highlights. the only thing i long for are subtle graduations from the blackest black of my heart to the brightest white of release of the strobe strobing away the ugly winter night)