sydney sun


I want to be the sort of friends who leaps—who drives miles and miles and writes long letters for every birthday. I want to be the sort of friend who arrives on a plane and gives more than she expects to receive. I want to be there for phone calls and coffee dates, for deep conversations and breathless laughter. I want to talk about how it really does suck so much sometimes and how you've got clouds in your chest and keep coughing up smoke whenever someone gets too close. I want to celebrate when things are so piercingly beautiful. I don't want to hesitate. I want to be a part of the net that catches—a piece of fabric that warms. I want to be the first to say sorry—the first to say let's go somewhere.

I went to Sydney to see a friend. It was one of those times when life feels good and sunny and like everything is going to turn out perfectly. Sydney was bright. I had been there once before with a boyfriend and it was special getting to explore it on my own. I walked for miles every day and ate vegan pies by Bondi and felt pretty grateful for everything. I snuck my way to the top of Pylon Lookout on the Harbour Bridge and stayed there for awhile, watching the salty blue waters and darting boats—the glistening city horizon and rows of cars. God, sometimes everything just seems possible, yknow? Like you could eat the sun and hold it shining in your belly.

These days were nice. Max and I rode the ferry to Manly Beach and I leaned over the edge to watch other people leaning over the edge. We followed the water to seaside pools and little jungles rising from the sand. Everything seemed possible. We got drunk in the city. We talked about careers and passions and photography and how wild it is that we're both here. I'm from Vancouver and Max is from California and we met in Seattle and somehow, we had both come to live in Australia for basically the same year. Two kids chasing the world, I guess. Two hungry kids chasing the light. Two kids who want to see it all.

The evening light was magical—the sun a pulsing warm beam.

Everything seemed possible.


Photographs from August 2017.