I love the word "touch"—both its meaning and its sound. The photographs in this book span over a decade of my life. Below are fragments of my thoughts and feelings while capturing these images: Sometimes it wasn’t easy. I wrestled with myself in those moments, often giving up—but occasionally, I lifted my heavy hand and pressed the shutter.

I want viewers to feel as though they’re pushing against a wall when looking at these photos, sensing the resistance pushing back.

With photography, I wage war against time. My images are weapons in this battle.

Water droplets slide down my arm. I feel them. When they fall—cool? Ticklish?—neither word captures that sensation. Can photographs bring me closer to that feeling better than words ever could?

*Tangibility!* These photos are about the raw sensation of being alive!

Earlier I called photography my weapon against time. Yet ten years later, flipping through these images, time only reveals its cruelty—mocking my resistance. Time now isn’t seconds or hours, but what’s happened and can never happen again. Time *is* change; only change reminds us time exists.

Photography doesn’t need to be responsible for truth—that isn’t its purpose. Like cinema, it refuses to let death be a freeze-frame. Photos let memory’s film rewind and play once more.