I'd Pretty Much Given Up Hope Of

In Each Man's Heart There Lies A Hole. A Dark Abyss Of Need, The Filling Of Which Takes Precedence Over All Else.

I Am Not A Storyteller . . . Not Like The Others. I Only Have One Tale To Tell.

The Certainty That She Would Find What It Was She Sought Just Slipped Away, Until One Night She Knew There Was Nothing, No One Waiting For Her. That No Matter How Far She Walked, How Carefully She Searched, How Much She Wanted To Find The Person She Was Looking For, She Was Alone" - The Forgotten Garden

That, My Dear, Is What Makes A Character Interesting, Their Secrets.

It Is A Cruel, Ironical Art, Photography. The Dragging Of Captured Moments Into The Future; Moments That Should Have Been Allowed To Be Evaporate Into The Past; Should Exist Only In Memories, Glimpsed Through The Fog Of Events That Came After. Photographs Force Us To See People Before Their Future Weighed Them Down.