Day: October 1, 2024

The story truly began in the aftermath of the storm.

There was something deeply symbolic about Hurricane Helene. It was one of the worst storms I’d ever experienced, both in terms of the physical devastation and what it stirred inside me. The destruction all around shook me to my core, forcing me to realize how fleeting everything is. The world I thought I knew wasn’t as permanent as I once believed.

Nothing stays the same. Everything changes. And everything can be gone tomorrow.

As I drove through the wreckage, with trees fallen on homes and vehicles crushed beneath their weight, I couldn’t help but think how lucky I was that my life wasn’t reduced to rubble like the world around me. She was safe too, though the reality was clear—she didn’t care if I was okay. In her eyes, I was just a remnant of the past, something she had left behind. A nuisance.

That hurt more than I can explain. Realizing I’d never be enough for her, that she never truly loved me. It made something inside me snap.

I had already broken down countless times since she left me nine months ago. I had tried to cope in my own way, tried to find a new existence. But it was hollow, and I had been brought to such dark places without her. I had lost everything, including myself.

But it wasn’t until this storm—until that day—that I finally accepted the truth. She was truly gone, and she never loved me the way I thought she did.

So, I started traveling again.

Seven years ago, when we first met, we spent every weekend exploring together. We were inseparable, like kids seeing the world for the first time. No matter where we went, we made it magical. Even the smallest, most boring towns became adventures. It was the most beautiful chapter of my life, but I didn’t realize then just how much it meant to me—or how much I needed her.

I thought I could exist without her. I was wrong.

Seeing her with someone else that night was the breaking point. So, I set off, traveling like we used to. I drove through the hurricane’s aftermath, capturing the destruction with my camera. Photographing the chaos was the only thing that brought me some sense of peace. It was as if, through those photos, I was with her again—reliving our adventures. But this time, I was alone.

I had to accept that now. That I would always be alone. I had to learn to enjoy my own company, to find new adventures without needing anyone by my side. The hurricane had shown me how fragile everything was. Time wasn’t something I could waste anymore. I had to see the world while I could.

One of the most interesting stops on my journey was a house filled with painted mannequins. The woman who owned them was an art professor of sorts. Her collection was strange, fascinating, and I knew it was exactly the kind of place Katarina would have loved. She would have been enchanted by it. But she wasn’t with me. So I took as many pictures as I could and embraced the moment for myself.

I made a decision that day—to start talking to people again. To listen to their stories and learn about their lives. I wanted to capture not just the world’s physical beauty, but the lives and memories that existed within it. I wanted to document the world while it was still here—because like everything else, it was constantly changing.

Another stop on my journey was an old wall—over a hundred years old—part of a house that stood during the Revolutionary War. A tree had fallen on it during the storm, destroying a piece of history. I took pictures and posted them online, and the response was overwhelming. People were fascinated by the destruction, eager to see more.

It made me realize something. I had been wrong before in how I approached our project—the one she and I had started together. I had thought of it as capturing something permanent, but now I knew nothing was permanent. Everything was changing. The world, like the Zion Institute, was transforming before my eyes.

When I returned to the Zion Institute, the place was almost unrecognizable. When we had visited it years ago, it was nothing but ruins—an old brick building, crumbling and abandoned. She had let me take pictures of her there, and I still remember how beautiful she looked, even in the midst of decay.

Now, the place was fully renovated, standing tall and new. And as I stood there, looking at it, I realized how much time had passed—how much I had let slip away. That was the moment it truly hit me. If I was ever going to move on, I needed to finish what we had started. I needed to complete our journey.

We had once dreamed of traveling all over South Carolina, photographing historical sites, state parks, and strange oddities—like the world’s largest ball of yarn. We were going to document it all, together. But we never finished.

Now, it’s up to me to revisit those places. To complete the trip. To finish the project we began, so I can finally let go.

And so, I’m preparing to bring back the website, to revive the dream we once had. But this time, it’s different. I’m not trying to create some documentary or educational piece. I want to capture the world as I see it. As it is now, through my eyes.

Once, we did this together. We were in love, and it was the most beautiful, passionate love I’ve ever known. But now, I’m going to do it alone.

I have to.

Because only then, when I’ve revisited all the places we once shared, will I finally be able to move on—and be at peace.

It was during Hurricane Helene that I made a decision I probably shouldn’t have. I knew she didn’t want to see me anymore—she had made that painfully clear. But I couldn’t let go. Not fully. Even though I knew she had moved on, there was still this part of me that held on, convinced she might still need me somehow.

The hurricane had brought down trees everywhere, making the drive nearly impossible. A trip that should have taken eight minutes stretched into forty, as I navigated around fallen branches and debris. I kept pushing forward, telling myself I just wanted to check on her. It was a hurricane, after all. I didn’t want to worry, not knowing if she was okay. That’s what I told myself anyway.

When I finally made it to her house, my heart sank. There, standing on the doorstep, was another man.

In that moment, I felt the truth I had been denying for so long crash down on me. She had moved on. I knew it. Deep down, I had known it for months. But seeing him there made it real in a way I wasn’t ready for. The pain was sharper than anything I had imagined.

I circled the block, torn between walking away and confronting the truth. But I had to know. I had to be sure she was okay. I wasn’t there to cause trouble or make things difficult for her. I just wanted to know she was happy, that she was safe.

When I came back around, he was gone. In his place, she stood, cigarette in hand, like everything was normal. I wanted to ask her if she was okay, but she barely acknowledged me. A few mumbled words—“Yeah, I’m fine”—and then she turned her back on me, walking away as if I didn’t matter.

It was clear she didn’t want to talk. Maybe she was going to get her new boyfriend, someone to run me off. I’ll never know. But what hit me hardest was the way she turned away, like I was a ghost from a past she no longer cared about.

Driving away in the storm, I broke down. Reality hit me like a wave. I had been living in a fantasy, convincing myself that we were soulmates, that somehow, after all the fighting and distance, she still loved me. But she didn’t. She had moved on, and I was stuck in the past, holding onto a dream that was never coming back.

That night, something inside me finally broke. I realized she was gone—truly gone—and that she no longer cared about me. It was a final, crushing blow, and in that moment, I knew I had to move on.

But I couldn’t.

I couldn’t shake the belief that she was my soulmate, my best friend, the person I thought I could always rely on. We had shared something special, or at least, I thought we had. I had taken her for granted, and now she was gone, and I was left with the weight of everything I’d lost.

That’s when I made the decision to retrace our steps. To go back to the places we had visited, the places that had once been full of life and adventure for us. Maybe by revisiting those moments, I could find some closure, some way to move forward.

Our story had been beautiful once. We had traveled, explored, grown together. I thought we were on the same path, working toward a future together. I had tried to give her the life she deserved, but I wasn’t fast enough. I wasn’t enough.

That night, in the middle of a storm, I had imagined myself as some kind of hero—coming to rescue her, to tell her how hard I had been working, how much I had wanted to give her the world. But instead, she had turned away. And there, in the home that used to be ours, was another man.

And that’s where this story begins.