Eleven years ago, I began photographing in Palestine. Over time, I formed deep bonds with families and individuals who welcomed me into their lives, turning that place into a second home. But since 2023, that home has begun to fracture: memories now carry the echo of bombs, absence, death, text messages filled with fear, and the anxiety of knowing that what I hold in my memory and in physical objects may never or will never return.

This series is a love letter one also full of pain. A trembling letter, pieced together through images and fragments of words: messages, videos sent from under siege, photographs from my personal archive, and new images that document how the landscape has changed in the aftermath of genocide, occupation, starvation, and destruction.

What does it mean to hold on to the last bar of olive oil soap sent by your second family? To cling to its scent, not knowing if it will ever be replaced? To wonder if the thread that connects us will snap? If the soap will dissolve, like memory, because we are separated by 12,041 kilometers.

While my daughter plays with her toys, the son of my friends digs his out from the rubble. In her play, I recognize the ruins of those we love now buried beneath them.

This work is an act of preservation: of memory, of connection, of what remains. I hold on to the words, the objects, the fragile threads that still tie us together. In the middle of fire, violence, destruction, I receive a message: I love you.

I love you like a soft pillow that soothes my thoughts for a second, only to become anxiety—the fear of losing you, of remembering your last I love you. I hold on to every object in my home because it is part of who I am, part of you, part of the memory we built together.

This is my love letter to you—written in fear that it might be the last. Each message asking are you still alive? becomes part of the memory that clings to every corner, every object. Amid this downpour of messages, there is a connection.

This project is a compilation of personal archival images, videos, and messages sent by loved ones—fragments that embody the lived reality in Palestine. A record. A resistance. A love that endures.

Because home is where the heart is.