1991

Spring, which smells not of hope, but of memory. Petals fly, as if time itself has decided to remind us that what seemed eternal has long since become a shadow. The year 1991 is not just a date here, but a state of mind: when everything is new, too bright, too painful, and therefore forever.

There is a feeling of youth in this, where laughter masks loneliness, and kindness is confused with the need to be needed. Everything seems to have frozen in a moment - in a breath, in a glance, in that very ‘forever’ that no one could hold on to. And yet, from these small cracks and unspoken words, tenderness is born. Not towards someone, but towards the very fact that it was alive then.