Rose Morte 2017

I grew up believing that longing was part of love. The women I watched on screen waited with such aching beauty that I learned to call the ache devotion.

Years later, I feel that familiar pull in my own relationships—reaching, yearning, holding desire at arm’s length.

When I photograph these wilted roses, something clicks. They mirror the posture I’ve carried: lovely, expressive, but held in suspension. A romance paused in mid-breath.

As I work, a new understanding settles in. Love doesn’t need distance to feel alive. I let myself step closer. I let what I have be enough.

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