A phrase I heard quite often as I dredged through these scouting trips. My first thought was, fuck you, I don’t live here. But then I thought about who that was for. Not outer me, but inner me. She needed to hear that. Your inner child will forever, in part, live in your childhood. They live in the memories you made, and specifically in the places you’ve been. They live in your past.
So, is your past your home? And what is home, anyway? Is it a place or is it a feeling? Honestly, I don’t care.
We shot this on the path I used to walk to get to my best friend’s house. My dad laid down these steps and my feet naturally remember them. To my left, I hear that long lost childhood friend singing on her balcony. I sent her a text a few months prior that went unanswered. To my right, I see my childhood backyard where the both of us shared lovely memories.
The wild blackberries still grew on the fence. I ate one right before we shot this. Delicious. But is this real? Or is this a figment of my imagination?
