Cherrie : galerie

Half stage, half me — there's something satisfying about peeling off the glitter one cotton pad at a time and finding the real person underneath.

Three hours of being watched and wanted, and now I'm just here — no sequins, no platform heels, just me in a slip dress watching the city pretend it sleeps.

Roommate walked in, saw me still in bed with my cherry coke and phone, and said "rough night?" — I said "no, perfect morning actually." She didn't ask again.

The last swipe of red before I become someone else for a few hours — there's a version of me that only exists under those lights, and I'm about to let her out.

Finally got this red sequin number to sit right — three hours of pinning and re-pinning, but when it catches the light like this, I know it's going to kill on the dance floor tonight.

There's something about the afternoon light in this city that makes me want to pause and just breathe. Maybe it's the way it hits the buildings, or maybe it's just me learning to slow down.

Sometimes I catch myself wondering if the version of me who stayed in Pittsburgh would recognize who I've become — then I remember she was always me, just waiting for permission to exist.

I'm singing for the crowd, but my voice is low enough to make some of you imagine what else I'd whisper into your ear.

I spent hours getting this blue dress perfect and now I'm just sitting here wondering if anyone will notice how much it emphasizes what's underneath. 😏

Cherrie being marked by Patrick on the couch, his teeth in her neck creating a visible claim.