I am not exaggerating when I say that I have taken tens of thousands of photographs of Honey. As I go back through them, I am struck with a sadness. I thought it was a sadness of remembering. But I also felt like that didn't seem right somehow. It didn't explain why I didn't necessarily want to look at those photos, yet. It seemed more complicated than that. Here's why: It wasn't a sadness of remembering. It was a sadness of forgetting. All these photographs I've taken of Honey have been to "preserve" something. A spirit. A feeling. And the sad, terrible — indeed "treacherous" — thing is that as I go about looking at these artifacts, they feel like they're having the reverse effect. Instead of bringing those feelings back to me, I feel like they're moving them further away. Instead of recreating those memories for me, I feel like they're destroying them.