love letter.

Not easy to state the change you made.
If I’m alive now, then I was dead, 
Though, like a stone, unbothered by it, 
Staying put according to habit. 
You didn’t just toe me an inch, no—
Nor leave me to set my small bald eye
Skyward again, without hope, of course, 
Of apprehending blueness, or stars.

text from Sylvia Plath’s Love Letter

medium format photograph taken with a Yashica-D twin lens reflex in Edinburgh’s Cammo Park

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