moleskine


Everything will remain undeveloped until I gain some confidence, a bit of sense, and feel at ease that yes, I am aware I am not very good at taking photographs, but who are you to tell me these images, pieces of my own time that you will never understand, are not "good enough?" It bothers me so much when people look at other people's art and criticize, judge, and recreate, without knowing or understanding what it is about, or why it even exists. It bothers me to sit here unproductively and let the sound of a shutter haunt me as I put off schoolwork and studying. It bothers me to sit here and wonder why I can not understand half of the things that do not have, or need, French translations are still indecipherable to me. I hate tendons, and I hate the curve of the congruence fingers, even the softness behind your ears. I hate the comfort I feel when I am alone during the nights, but I ultimately hate that I'm even sitting here, feeling nothing.