Haven Kim
Los Angeles
Editor’s Letter
2015 — present
The scent of someone's home when you first step inside. The glint of gold sunlight slipping through a half-open window. The hush of a shared silence that says more than words could ever manage. The brush of cool breeze rolling down from glacier peaks.
These are the things that stay with me — the details so small they almost ask to be missed. But I have always loved the noticing: the way someone's face changes just before they laugh, the reverence in a quiet touch, the way the world briefly stills when someone looks at the person they love.
What is the best way to be devout to these moments? A way of holding onto the things that would otherwise slip through our fingers.
Like guppies in a pond, it’s an honor to catch them before they drift away.
These are the things that stay with me — the details so small they almost ask to be missed. But I have always loved the noticing: the way someone's face changes just before they laugh, the reverence in a quiet touch, the way the world briefly stills when someone looks at the person they love.
What is the best way to be devout to these moments? A way of holding onto the things that would otherwise slip through our fingers.
Like guppies in a pond, it’s an honor to catch them before they drift away.