The Moment That Stays

I don’t choose when I arrive. I’m brief—sometimes barely there. A glance softened by sunlight, a half-smile before words return, the pause between a breath in and a breath out.

Most of the time, I pass unnoticed. Forgotten as quickly as I came. But now and then, someone pays attention. A photographer lifts the camera, and I stay.

That’s when everything sharpens. A story flickers behind a gaze, hands pause mid-gesture, light catches the curve of a cheek. For a heartbeat, I am seen. Held. A fragment of a much larger story—preserved, though the world moves on.

The beauty of this work? People open the door for me. They let me stay longer than I should. They trust that this tiny piece of their life—the one I represent—is worth keeping.

And maybe that’s the ideal client: someone who trusts that a moment, no matter how small, can mean something. Someone who allows the lens not just to see but to remember.

Because moments pass. But some—just a few—choose to stay.

Mariam. Yerevan. Armenia. Autumn 2019.