I want to be an author, a filmmaker, a journalist, a café owner, a therapist, an architect, and a DJ on stage.

I want to photograph strangers in a quiet town. But I also want to get lost in the bass of a crowded, underground club. I want to build things with my hands. I want to carry everyone’s secrets. I want to leave a mark. I want to melt into the void.

I keep trying to fit into one outline, but the ink always spills over. Maybe I’m not supposed to be a completed statue. Maybe I’m just a constellation — a thousand different points of light connected by chance.