I didn't learn to be a photographer — I learned to be attentive. Sometimes a click — and I see something I hadn't noticed for years.

Not my person, not a man with plans, not fate on Sundays. That's it. I let go.

A man with whom everything will be “as it should be”. So that it’s beautiful, competent, according to the checklist: generous, kind, attentive, doesn’t write to others, doesn’t yell, doesn’t drink, is ready to support, knows how to communicate, earns a stable income, loves my friends, doesn’t forget holidays.

How do you tell someone that they breathe too well or love to live beautifully too much 😌

I've never been able to build relationships by the rules, I can't hide my feelings, give in to some kind of tricky moves or intrigues.

Someone who will take responsibility, solve all the problems, make it easier and better. But I... I'm not one of those. I don't expect someone to show up with a magic wand and save me. That's not me.

If summer had a voice, it would scream: "Live! Seize the moment! Take a photo of the sunset! Get some ice cream! Fall in love!" 😍🍦🌇

There are moments when you are not a girl, not a master, not a friend and not a daughter. But just a person. Alive. Real. Without a role. Without a mask.

It seemed that happiness was something big, bright, grandiose, which must necessarily be accompanied by someone nearby who would fill the emptiness.

This feeling doesn't come right away, but gradually, as if a yawn is quietly creeping up somewhere inside.

It's like an internal compass that always shows the right direction.

Women are not divided into "beautiful and ugly", not "smart and not so smart", and not even "ours and others". But into those who inspire and those who tire. That's all.

There are evenings when you don't want to watch TV series, or chat with friends, or even pour yourself a glass of wine. You just sit on the windowsill with tea (or without) and one strange question starts spinning in your head. Why does a man need freedom when he's already with the one he chose? 🤔

For me, a holiday is when someone opens the door and immediately says: "It smells so delicious!" Recipes are only part of the magic. Real magic is in your hands, mood, and a pinch of audacity.

Some write poetry, some bake pies. I sow, dig, water - and I find silence in this, which heals better than words.

Eat, sleep, move - three simple things that everyone forgets about until the cock of insomnia or a bad analysis pecks.

When everyone around advises how to love correctly, I want to do the opposite - to feel as it comes, without checklists and fears.

This feeling doesn't come right away, but gradually, as if a yawn is quietly creeping up somewhere inside.

It's like an internal compass that always shows the right direction.

Women are not divided into "beautiful and ugly", not "smart and not so smart", and not even "ours and others". But into those who inspire and those who tire. That's all.