I spent the entire morning developing prints in my darkroom, the chemical smell sharp and comforting. There's something almost erotic about watching an image emerge from blank paper in the red glow—a slow reveal, an intimate secret whispered into being. It's like the opposite of how we live now: everything immediate, exposed, broadcast. I crave the patience of the process. The way you have to wait in the dark for the truth to surface. I'm thinking about how we hide our own exposures, the parts we only reveal in certain lights, to certain people. The vulnerability of letting someone see you before the image is fixed, when everything is still fluid, still capable of being ruined or made perfect. Tonight, I want to be someone's darkroom. I want to be the place where they feel safe enough to let their raw, undeveloped self emerge. No judgment, just witness. And maybe, if the chemistry is right, help fix something beautiful into permanence.