I have a problem with this story that time passes. That everything flows and that you cannot dive into the same river twice, as the ancients said. That change our bodies and change our souls. Which are buildings above the park where I used to ride a bicycle.
I have a problem with time and its transformations. And so I don't resign myself, I take photos, I write, I fill wardrobes, drawers, diaries, as well as bags and pockets of coats with memories. I try to trap the moments so that they last a little longer, to keep a trace of them in order to be able to say that I really lived that moment, even if it will never come back.
I have the problem of all the nostalgics, who live every day regretting it even before it is over. Who cry at every departure and at every return because they realize that for all these memories, there is none placed in the suitcase. And then we try to make room in the heart. And that's how it always breaks a little.

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