I like standing under the shade of the trees downstairs. Sunlight filters through the leaves, scattered and fragmented, falling upon my shoulders like time, gently fractured.
I learn, create, observe, wander— as if chasing something, as if waiting for something.
Do we ever see the whole of things? We always look forward, never back. How much have we missed along the way?
Next time, would you capture my silhouette from behind? I want to see myself.
But it doesn’t matter— all things will pass, all things will fade.
And even if I see, what difference would it make?