Behold the ground beneath your feet: a boundless canvas it is, holding thousands of shapes, colored bright yellow and shades of gray, that start dancing with every dash of wind. Here’s the sunlight and there’s the shadows.

- The weather -

Silent night, turned-off light, she was lying on her side, yet started to change her posture for the dampness of her pillow. Her face and every one of its features were motionless, yet part of her soul was banging on her eyes, making its way into the outer world.

- It's ok to cry -

A hot summer night, they stepped into her bathroom: a vintage vibe of baroque patterns and wooden aroma. It had no windows, full of darkness, yet, lavish of light, for they could breathe each other. He mixed the chemicals, she held the camera. They started developing their films. Her hands were dancing on the films, moving upwards, downwards, backwards, forwards, to meet with his hands, which completed the movement with a definitive freeze. His hands adeptly loaded the films onto the film reel, her hands still clutching onto his, then smoothly finishing his act by taking the loaded reels and dropping them into a development tank. Hands in hands, they poured the chemicals into the tank, attentively, rigorously. That was perilous romance. The eyes on the tank, yet the minds might have drifted somewhere far away. Film photography made them prone to each other, prone to life, yet it was always decadent delight.

- Time to love -