When I’m being delusional love looks like this: love confessions atop the Notre Dame and other romantic locations, being chased across cities and airports, being torn apart only to be brought back together years later, lots of angst and miscommunication, and lots of sweet moments to make up for it all.
Story by Samantha Chavez/ @sam_denisse/ pronouns: she/herPhotographs by María Sureda / @mariasuredas / pronouns: she/herModel: Clara Sánchez / @clara.spContent Warning: discussions of catcalling and...
One, two, three. I remember lying in bed and counting. Four, five, six. If I could make it to ten, the pain would usually stop. Seven, eight, nine. It came in waves, feeling like a knife was ripping through my stomach and severing me to my knees. Ten.
