CORIE SHANNON
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sonder n. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own

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An Open Letter from my best friend to the man who tried to break me

10/29/2016

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I first met Corinne when she was 15.
Although a lot of people transform over decades and become unrecognizable, there are aspects of Corinne that have never changed.
One of those is her invisible inner fortitude,
so big in comparison to her tiny human body.
You can see it in her
while she's riding in the passenger side looking out the window.
You can feel it,
even over the phone
flowing out of her as grace
when she gives someone the benefit of the doubt,
defends the voiceless,
or forgives. 
The reason this hurts is because Corinne's body holds a spirit
that wants only to love and to be loved.
Every decision she makes can be traced back to that.

Your decisions have consistently been made
while you knew that they would deeply wound her.
Your brain,
to avoid the pain of dissonance,
will find a million reasons to justify your decisions.
Every decision counts.
Even the decision to not say something
or stop something.

Do you remember Corinne's seemingly endless tenderness and capacity to forgive and empathize and love you, even after you broke up?
You might have taken it for granted then, 
But I do not think that you will now.
She forged those abilities after years of self healing.

You did not break Corinne.
Because - much like the Japanese practice of Kintsugi -
she has a multitude of breaks,
all repaired and filled in with gold. 
Gold she created herself.
It may take longer than others, 
but eventually,
You will be just another painful break
that she will fill in.
you will be just another name
on the list
of dishonest, undeserving people
from whom she has learned lessons.
Picture
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Contents Under Pressure

10/27/2016

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It's Halloween week. I leave the house in the dark. I return home in the dark. The sky is gloomy and the rain won't stop. Why now?
 my perception is selective.  
I can't stop fidgeting. 

Tonight, for the first time in my life, I called myself an artist.
I. am. in. such. a. dark. place.
// heavy heart and a head full of pesticide.
And here I am.
Able to call myself a fucking artist. 
I just needed to suffer for it.

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    Corie

    images + words. a story untold still has its worth, but here we are. . . because stories save.

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  • Portraits
  • Photographers' Musings
  • Artists' Musings
  • Events
  • Measurements
  • Stories
  • References
  • Contact Me
  • Model Mayhem