feature: bookends

"Time it was, and what a time it was, it was
A time of innocence, a time of confidences
Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph
Preserve your memories, they're all that's left you"

credits:

photography: alistair edwards

styling: clementine

words: 'bookends' by simon and garfunkel

if the walls could talk.

credit: demi cambridge

www.demicambridge.com

plume.

by shey marque

Flesh shimmers in the powder white
turquoise pours over shoulder lakes
black silk slides where sighs begin
mirage in the night of Toulouse-Lautrec

Turquoise pours over shoulder lakes
trace my contours in slow motion
mirage in the night of Toulouse-Lautrec
sense of me in the boudoir rouge

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it don't matter to the sun.

credit: felicity photography

www.felicityphotography.carbonmade.com

an open letter to the man getting a sex change.

by charlotte guest

Hi.

My name is Charlotte. You may know me from such things as The Little Athletics Newsletter: April, 2006 and That Place You Buy God-awful Coffee From.

I've heard many things about you, but mostly I've heard that you're becoming a woman.

Please forgive the whispers. We're a small place, and this is the most exciting thing to happen since the shop got painted a controversial tangerine.

come back to me.

credit: rachela nardella

www.symphonyofcolours.blogspot.com.au

the break up, but not break down.

by hayley stockall

You feel it coming, even if perhaps you can’t acknowledge what it is yet.

Something is out of place. Something makes you feel heavy in the heart, where you once felt nothing but lightness. Something that was there yesterday is gone. Is it time to feel paranoid yet? You think not.

A few days later, a few weeks later, a few months later – can you even remember the time? It all felt so unmeasured back then. A morning was simply waking up to another warm body in bed.

hide and seek.

credit: lucy wise

collect the world