Myself Two Seconds to Cry

The digital presence left by people I knew who died young has vanished. Songs they’ve uploaded, photo albums, public diary entries, all deleted and all that’s left is generic obituaries. When I think of these people, I think of a place. With two cameras, I’m capturing the outline of a memory we shared there in present and in past. The digital presence left by people I knew who died young has vanished. Songs they’ve uploaded, photo albums, public diary entries, all deleted and all that’s left is generic obituaries. When I think of these people, I think of a place. With two cameras, I’m capturing the outline of a memory we shared there in present and in past. The digital presence left by people I knew who died young has vanished. Songs they’ve uploaded, photo albums, public diary entries, all deleted and all that’s left is generic obituaries. When I think of these people, I think of a place. With two cameras, I’m capturing the outline of a memory we shared there in present and in past. The digital presence left by people I knew who died young has vanished. Songs they’ve uploaded, photo albums, public diary entries, all deleted and all that’s left is generic obituaries. When I think of these people, I think of a place. With two cameras, I’m capturing the outline of a memory we shared there in present and in past.