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An on-going collection of photographic work 

dedicated to self-reflection and experimentation.


Through the quiet and still winter, she was left to her own reflection amongst the open skies. Left to witness the shadows creeping ever-closer, like a clock, consistently ticking on, growing louder as you watch the pendulum swing. After some time, she grew ill, as the shadows poured over her, seeping into her blood, churning sweetly inward and spilling back out into the skies. 

She plays just as much a role in this bitter cycle, she realized, as everyone else. Guilt consumed her, as she was trapped in this inevitable villainy to her own demise - for every move under the sun or moon creates a shadow - until the walls themselves are entirely shaken.

So she hesitantly lit a candle, raw and honest in the darkness, and knocked at the walls that shadow her within. And she waits, as the clock ticks on. She waits with her candle in the quiet for an answer. By herself, she waits for others to understand their own shadows.

As the pendulum swings, still.


Dreams haunt me like ghosts

Lurking in the corners of my mind,

Taunting me through daylight still.

They cling to me like shadows

In the untraceable fog, I find

Their presence inescapably surreal.

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