I saw him sitting on the stairs, messing around with his brother and I grabbed my camera. Moans, groans and “Quit taking pictures MOM!” were audible as I came down the hall.
I assured them it was not their faces I was interested in and they lost interest in what I was doing.
I took one shot. Risky shooting in manual, but it was all I needed.
I feel like these jeans. Broken, worn and beyond repair. Yet, they’re still kickin’.
I love these broken jeans. Don’t let how broken they are mislead you.
Let’s be honest. We’re all a little broken. Some of us a little more than others. Yet, it’s these scars, deep or shallow that measure large or small and may or may not challenge our mortality, seem to make life’s adventure a lot more palatable, a lot more fun and full of perspective.
I think broken is beautiful.