I do not know who I am when the light departs.I only know that the frame holds me — not as a boundary, but as a promise.The world folds behind my back and turns into sound.My breath intertwines with the darkness and becomes a thread.It leads somewhere — but I no longer remember where. Memory is a mirror without a face.Within it, I awaken — stretched, tilted, almost erased.My hands do not embrace; they try to understand.What is movement when time is gone?What is a body when it has already...

She doesn’t simply enter the frame. She transforms it. With a gaze that hides a question without an answer and a tenderness that needs no...

Sometimes, the greatest miracle doesn't come with fanfare.It arrives in the silence between two deep breaths. It comes when we allow...