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Moving can be bittersweet. Especially in moments of true terror that I'm leaving. No matter who the person is you're leaving, a lot of times it's the stuff you worry about securing and taking with you and the stuff you're concerned with going through and leaving behind. And the going through of the stuff is what brings you to moments of we did that, then. Finding evidence of the trails of feats and failures. You find yourself in the midst of an unannounced photo album in the form of old receipts, mailed materials, cards et etc. In the midst of my bittersweet dash to rummage through and destroy the evidence, before my eyes, that this marriage even existed (honestly that's how I feel at this point,) is the below.
A phoenix of a moment in time ten years ago in the backyard of my house at 17 years of age. A time when my mother was still alive, my father was not, in fact, the man of the house (my aunt truly was) and in defiance, planted emasculating roses gardens one after another. It's a sink in the middle of a raspberry garden. I  took this photo as a part of my high school photography class. I took it, in reality because I was amazed at the whys of anyone putting a porcelain sink in their backyard, in the middle of an overgrown raspberry garden, kept there for years. This was my first attempt at developing my own images, and I used too much of a chemical in the development process (fixer I think,) and that's why it's so yellow, not because of age. In fact, it looked like that two days after development. I'm grateful that I found this, out of all of this....