Light is as uncertain as memory—
it changes shape each time it brushes the skin.
This series drifts between being and vanishing,
tracing bodies that hover in that fragile in-between.
The figures are wrapped in light,
or slowly devoured by it,
their forms melting into a presence that belongs to no one.
I did not seek the gaze, nor emotion,
but the faint tremor of breath,
the warmth that outlines a human trace.
What lingers here is not solitude,
nor sorrow,
but the quiet pulse of life itself—
the shadow of us,
breathing softly within the light.