Ash on their foreheads, silence in their prayers—wrapped in something sacred yet unsettling. Beneath soft light and restless thoughts, we become offerings of memory and flesh, hiding our fragility in ritual, waiting to be seen, or erased.
milan feels different like this— walking side by side, not saying much. then I turn to you,
“one drink before we go? like I don’t really want the night to end yet.
the shower’s off, but somehow everything still feels in motion. a still frame that doesn’t try too hard—just caught between thoughts, between seconds. effortless, slightly undone, and enough to make it feel like it matters.
