The saddest part, at times, is possibility extinguished. Gone. We imagined a trajectory; it was cut short. Who else's trajectories will be cut short? Why was yours? What's to stop anyone else's from being disappeared? I don't believe in ghosts--I didn't. When others leave, they're gone. Yours is one of the only ghosts that exists. You still exist. How? You're still laughing, still photographing, still eating ice cream. I feel this truth deeply in my bones.
Though now typically disenchanted, when I see photographs of Iceland, when I hear "Love Me Like You Do", I come to believe in the power of the universe once again because I know you're out there, somewhere.
A million miles of photo credits to MAG.
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