I'm sorry, photography. It's not you, it's me.
Actually, it's editing, standing over there in the corner, brazenly brandishing that saucy red pen.
She is my first love, and I've never gotten over her. Truth be told, we've been in a long-term relationship the past ten years.
You, photography, are wonderfully captivating. Bright and new. I will always love you. I will always pursue you. But I'm afraid you will never oust editing from my heart.
Especially not when the job I've dreamed about since chasing after my English degree a decade ago just posted an opening. One I finally have the experience for. At the imprint that's pressed its mark into my heart ever since that first black spine drew my eyes.
So please, don't hold it against me. We'll always have Paris, and Russia, and Madrid.
But London's calling, and I have to try to make it work with editing. I couldn't forgive myself if I didn't.