But what about the men themselves? What about the pilot who returns from the moon and knows with a mortal certainty that he has already done the most noteworthy thing he'll ever do and now must keep himself busy for the next half-centrury? What about the existential whiplash that comes from being on the moon one week and in your living room the next-and having to find your own way to process the vast gulf between those two worlds?

"Remember where you're standing when the spotlight goes off, you'll have to find your own way off the stage."

- Jeffrey Kluger -

Numerous times in a day, I feel out of breath; suffocated. An acute paroxysm to my left, it must be my heart; and no matter how I hit at it the pain refuses to go away. It lingers. So I gasp for air despite being surrounded by it. I fear to breathe, but I need to. It is excruciating to breathe, but I need to. With each episode I concede this is how I will go. Out of air.

I got out of the car, and sat by the sidewalks and waited. I trace the windows to your floor and watched your light. This too feels familiar. If I had called, the night might have ended with a different scene.

I withdraw those hallucinations from my head and lit my cigarette. It is that allure and this sentence which summarizes the predicament: “They want me. I want you. And you want someone else. But none of us want to turn around.” - Iain Thomas

Then I thought about that instant, when I held your eyes, and I knew… I was not orthodox.

I saved a draft to write again later. So you won't know the actual moment and place that I wrote this to leave behind in time for you to read. I have learn to do that recently. To fake control of time. Your the feeling that never goes away. The only answer to my question that makes the most sense to me.

I wrote the last sentence, placed the last full stop. I knew what was coming. The pen slipped from my hand and I closed my eyes. 'So', I heard her say, or perhaps it was me, 'it's just the two of us now.' I argued with her for a bit.

'It will never work, I've forgotten.'.

'But I haven't forgotten.' She says.

Shot by Jefinski - Su Le Pave

This is the last time, this is the last line,
Sunset to sunrise morning to midnight
This is my goodbye
Blow out the candle, The bottle is dry
And if pages learned to think
You're not even worth my black ink revenge
I guarantee you'll miss me.

-J.S-

There is a distinction between knowing what we want and what we don't. We can be so sure with either choices. But still, there will be something lacking. A tint maybe?

It's been years. And I find myself still here. I am still here. The evidence is clearly displayed in the list of archives. I am still here, I am still writing. Why?

- Shot by Freja Beha -