Twenty-two years from now, my daughter would come home with tears in her eyes and though she'd try to hide it while we're eating dinner, I would tell her to go to her room, lock herself up and remember everything about that boy. Remember each detail, be it the best and worst memory, then she could tell me about it through writing or painting or a photo or composing a song or even dancing. I would tell my baby girl that boys are just fucking art materials and she is the artist.
–Myka M. Obinque

Photo: @williamsphotography (IG)