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.