In the candlelight of memories, I am flicking through tattered postcards from places that I can no longer visit, lost in a timeless map of nostalgia, dread, and yearning.

I pass through the echo of laughter, the ghostly embrace of a fleeting touch, and the resonance of words that linger in the air like ripples spent across a still pond. These are the fragments of moments that were, quantum particles of connection loomed through the canvas of life.

Each encounter itself is a trace, an indelible tangle in the web of existence. These entanglements are the threads that swaddle us, change us, unseen but profoundly real.

Amidst the distant conversations of strangers on park benches and the gentle hum of traffic I see the intricate weave of lives briefly intermingling. Observation changes everything slightly and in time lost faces stay young, names are forgotten, and the memory of shared time lingers like an afterimage dancing across closed eyelids.

Photographs, on the other hand, in faded silver halide, are painted-shut windows into worlds left behind. Long-lost smiles and shadowed gazes, captured in ancient alchemy, evidence of connections that have unraveled, threads that once held souls together. In these accounts of death-calm faces are the flicker of lives that illuminated my path, left an impression, and then dispersed into a vast unknown.

I imagine a place where the energy of nostalgia collects in dark pools and these relationships remain like old echoes roaming among the high places of a vast cathedral, choirs of voices speaking a shared secret language called "bond."