Bunga Abadi

There are things that do not die - they simply change form. Sometimes it is a feeling, frozen between an inhalation and an exhalation, when the world suddenly becomes softer, as if someone has covered it with a transparent veil of light. There is no place for haste here: everything stretches out unhurriedly, like smoke from incense, like a memory that does not hurt, but warms.

And in this silence, where every sound lasts a little longer than it should, a strange calm is born. As if all the hustle and bustle is just a backdrop, and the most important thing has already happened long ago. All that remains is to carefully carry your own - that very ‘immortal’ detail of life that smells of tenderness and time.