Reflection on an experience of the past half a year.
the beginning was delicate, paced and deliberate. I was walking in the dark, running my fingers along the walls of a labyrinth that stretched endlessly inwards.
time let it grow, let it poke its head above the soil and feel the sun. every meeting was another drop of water on a thirsty plant, another thin line of colour in a slow whirling pattern, altering always in subtle tints and shades.
the ending was stark, the bold razor whipped underline highlighting what is and what shouldn’t be, and finally the cold vacant architecture of loss.