Everywhere I go, I notice things. Insignificant things. Beautiful things.
Whether it’s a satisfying composition found within the quiet chaos of an off-the-beaten-path bush, a peculiar man ordering slices of watermelon at a blinged-out taco truck at 2 am, or the stray pink hairs I spy within the blonde cascades of a lover’s locks.
They all exist—somewhere, everywhere, and it’s hard for me not to notice, but I do, and it’s a gentle curse.