bohemea:

As in all transformations, there is an element of sadness. Something very familiar, very comforting is being left behind for the unknown, which beckons her, siren-like and irresistible. She is, as Rilke once observed, seated before her own heart’s curtain. It allows only the tiniest peek.

Intolerable, the waiting and the melancholy. All changes, even the most longed for, must have their melancholy.

At Twelve: Portraits of Young Women by Sally Mann, 1983-1985.

(via fromlaughter)