Some photographs are taken by accident, and some are taken with reverence. This one—captured in the warmth of wood walls and laughter, in a place called The Salty Dawg in Homer, Alaska—was one of the rare ones. The ones where you know, even before the shutter clicks, that you're holding onto something you're about to lose.

That’s what I did—what we did—on that day. My cousin and I scribbled on a dollar bill and pinned it to the wall. She was already dancing at the edge of this life, and we both knew it. The moment had that strange clarity that only comes when you know it's the last of something. The air is thicker. The light more golden. We documented it with the calm urgency of people who know the photograph won’t just be a memory—it will be the keeper of the memory.

And now, here it is: the image. A found photograph that resurfaced unexpectedly, like a wave returning to shore years later. And a video too—her voice, unmistakable. The kind of video you forget you even had, until suddenly it finds you again.

There’s something impossibly tender about knowing you said goodbye on purpose. So much of life slips away without ceremony. But once in a while, we do get to choose the ritual. We get to take a photo that says: this mattered. We get to press “record” not for the feed, but for the future.

An interactive version of this work that includes its origin story is in development to be released on Transient Labs. The original will live on at real.photo

"When I traveled to Alaska, I knew I was stepping onto land that most people will never set foot on in their lifetime—and that wasn’t lost on me. It felt sacred, like the Earth was revealing something ancient and alive just for me to witness. I didn’t want to sleep. I wanted to take in every inch of it—the glaciers, the sea birds, the expanse of ocean, the stillness, the wild. It was so beautiful, it demanded to be shared—not as a souvenir, but as a transmission. Not a sliver of the feeling, all of it. Because views like that don’t just inspire—they sometimes pull people outside the limits we make of each our own current lives."