A stack of photographs, some black and white, decaying and brittle—others in vibrant Kodachrome hues. All are copied, treasured, their subjects smiling, holding each other tight in that frantic electric emotion lost to the afterward. For some, the photographs are realistic remembrances of memories faded, lost to the tendrils of time and limitless emotion. For others, drowning in the joy, lust, and emotion in that posed flash of time, they are desperate to hold onto what actually never was. But in that moment, they all seem like an integral part of the story. And I get to keep those moments.
By Samantha Peirce