She didn’t like me because I was a total slob. I don’t blame her.

But breakups have a way of bringing people together and that’s pretty much how we became friends. She listened to me bawl my eyes out and before long, we were inseparable. (Mostly because we didn’t have any other friends). She began teaching me life skills like how to cook and also how to clean and be a normal functioning human. We made a mural out of hijacked paper, camped in our front yard, regularly walked two miles to eat rice cakes& bananas, and did a lot of yoga (sleeping on yoga mats).

That summer flew by in a jif and a few years later we decided it was worth rekindling that ol’ good roommateship we had going on. So we moved into a ghetto apartment that was overflowing with mold and plumbing issues. Everything was fine n’ dandy until PLOT TWIST Mr. Brandon shows up. *commence watch-dog-protective-friend instincts* You know what I mean. When there is a fishy dude tryna jeopardize your roommateship and get with your bestie, you become an angry-faced mother hen. Sorry Brandon. He started swinging by more and more and began performing choreographed dances with his friends for us. I still wasn’t too keen on the idea, until I saw how happy Ariah was when he was around… that made things tolerable.

Over the next year, I watched them date, wed, grow, laugh & throw sarcasm around like candy. I have since forgiven Brandon for stealing my roommate. He turned out to be a really funny guy who is into things like barefoot running and prank calling people. They are a pretty good match considering she really enjoys that too.

So with that long winded intro *I PRESENT TO YOU* a visual mini-documentary of these two lil creatures who changed my life. SIDE NOTE: took these at like 1pm. Every photographer knows that is the worst time to take pictures. But maybe that’s a total lie because the diversity of light and shadow in these photos is like uh blowing everything off the lid of what I thought was true. *ps at the end there’s a gif 



PS  this was our mural.

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